THE 

VEIL  OF  THE  TEMPLE 

* 

OR 

FROM  DARK  TO  TWILIGHT 


BY 

WILLIAM  HURRELL  MALLOCK 

AUTHOR  OF  "A   ROMANCE  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY 
"IS  LIFE  WORTH   LIVING?"   ETC. 


New  York:    G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

LONDON:  JOHN  MURRAY 

1904 


Copyright,  1904,  by 

WILLIAM  HURRELL  MALLOCK 

Published  May,  1904 


CONTENTS 


BOOK   I 

Page 

Without  and  Within 1 

BOOK   II 
Theologians  in  Disguise 61 

BOOK   III 
The  Church  to  the  World 109 

BOOK   IV 
The  World  to  the  Church 151 

BOOK   V 
A  Midsummer  Night's  Waking 206 

BOOK   VI 
A  Toy-Shop,  and  a  Blind  Alley 317 

BOOK   VII 
Before  Dawn 358 


3-19-170 


THE  VEIL  OF  THE  TEMPLE 

BOOK  I 
Without  and  Within 


CHAPTEE   I 

THE  last  great  ball  of  a  sultry  London  season  was 
illuminating  one  of  those  few  important  houses 
which  allow  the  business  of  dancing,  on  such  an  oc- 
casion as  this,  to  be  little  more  than  an  episode  in  a 
brilliant  evening  party;  and  the  ball  having  been 
preceded  by  a  solemn  dinner  and  concert,  given  with 
a  view  to  the  honor  rather  than  the  exhilaration  of 
Royalty,  various  grave  personages  who  had  assisted 
at  these  earlier  functions,  such  as  elderly  cabinet 
ministers,  an  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  a  Car- 
dinal, were  still  lingering  in  a  scene  which  had  gradu- 
ally changed  its  character.  But  incomparably 
graver  in  aspect  than  even  the  Archbishop  himself 
was  a  tall  monumental  man  of  commanding  but  ab- 
stracted demeanor,  who  had  arrived  under  the  wing 
of  the  popular  and  intellectual  Mrs.  Yernon,  and 
who  —  to  judge  from  appearances  —  had  found  in 
her  his  sole  acquaintance. 

Mrs.  Yernon  had  presently  joined  a  row  of  dowa- 
gers in  tiaras,  who,  seated  along  one  of  the  walls, 


2  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

were  watching  and  criticizing  the  proceedings;  and 
her  grave  companion  had  seated  himself  in  the  chair 
next  her.  Placed  where  he  was,  in  the  light  of  the 
chandeliers  and  the  candelabra,  he  formed  a  singular 
object.  His  high  dome-like  forehead,  his  keen  eyes, 
his  long  and  compressed  lips,  betrayed  a  sense  of  his 
own  power  and  consequence;  whilst  the  limpness 
of  his  shirt-front,  a  beard  like  a  ragged  bib,  his 
square-toed  and  thick-soled  shoes,  and  a  glimpse  of 
white  thread  stockings,  gave  to  him  alone  of  all  the 
men  in  the  room  the  distinction  of  a  spiritual 
stranger  —  of  a  being  from  another  star. 

Mrs.  Yernon  at  intervals  would  offer  up  to  this 
deity  an  elaborately  serious  observation,  as  though 
it  were  a  species  of  sacrifice,  or  propose  in  vain  to 
introduce  him  to  some  celebrity.  He  would  always, 
when  this  occurred,  respond  to  her  with  condescend- 
ing deference:  but,  singular  to  relate,  the  conversa- 
tion going  on  around  him,  evidently  had  for  him  a 
far  more  absorbing  interest  than  that  which  his  so- 
licitous friend  prepared  for  his  private  benefit.  Her 
question,  for  instance,  as  to  whether  the  Archbishop, 
who  had  once  been  nearly  expelled  from  the  Eng- 
lish Church  as  a  rationalist,  could  in  his  old  age  be 
really  a  believer  in  miracles,  he  showed  a  disposition 
to  shelve  rather  than  answer:  but  he  seemed  to  hang 
on  her  syllables  when,  patting  an  embroidered  knee, 
she  informed  two  adjoining  dowagers  of  the  aston- 
ishing cheapness  of  her  costume,  which  had,  it  ap- 
peared, cost  only  thirty  guineas,  whereas  somebody 
called  Katinka  would  not  have  made  it  for  sixty. 
Nor  did  his  attention  relax  when  the  ladies,  after  a 
long  discussion  of  it,  dropped  this  absorbing  subject 


Without  and  Within  3 

in  obedience  to  an  exclamation  of  Mrs.  Vernon's, 
which  besought  them  to  notice  that  a  certain  Molly 
Majendie  —  whom  he  identified  as  a  dazzling  fairy- 
surrounded  by  several  men,  "  was  actually  back  from 
Paris,  laughing  as  if  nothing  had  happened.''  He 
was  all  ears  as  he  gathered  that  this  vision  in  pearls 
and  turquoises  was  supposed  to  have  celebrated  Whit- 
suntide with  a  brother  officer  of  her  husband's  in  a 
manner  that  was  much  too  private,  and  at  the  same 
time  much  too  public.  He  heard  the  story  submitted 
in  each  of  its  damaging  details  to  the  searchlight 
of  a  higher  criticism  which  made  rather  for  belief 
than  doubt.  He  drank  in  Mrs.  Vernon's  words 
as  she  enunciated  the  sad  conviction  that,  if  conduct 
like  this  were  condoned,  the  dissolution  of  society 
was  inevitable:  and  then,  with  a  start  of  surprise,  he 
realized  that,  a  moment  later,  her  gloomy  anticipa- 
tions had  been  dissipated,  and  the  subject  changed 
once  more,  by  another  ornamental  apparition  which 
was  now  conspicuous  in  the  foreground,  the  dead 
white  of  whose  skin,  the  vivid  red  of  whose  lips,  and 
the  rumored  relation  of  whose  heart,  to  the  con- 
jugal and  pecuniary  distress  of  a  Russian  Grand 
Duke  at  Naples,  became  the  immediate  prey  of  a  trio 
of  discreet  voices. 

The  grave  listener  gradually  closed  his  eyes,  as 
though  anxious  that  no  other  sense  should  trespass 
on  that  of  hearing;  nor  did  he  again  open  them  till 
an  eager  question  of  Mrs.  Vernon's  as  to  "  who  it 
could  be  that  Molly  had  got  hold  of  now  "  roused 
him  to  the  contemplation  of  the  back  view  of  a  man 
on  whom  Mrs.  Majendie  was  concentrating  the  choic- 
est of  her  upturned  glances.     The  man,  as  it  seems, 


4  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

was  receiving  this  obvious  homage  with  a  light  and 
tolerant  laughter,  when  the  lady  with  the  dead  white 
skin  adroitly  caught  his  attention,  and,  contriving  to 
withdraw  him  from  the  circle  of  Mrs.  Majendie's 
magic,  at  once  set  about  trying  on  him  the  rival  effi- 
ciency of  her  own.  It  was,  however,  plain  that  his 
thraldom  was  very  far  from  complete,  for,  happen- 
ing to  turn  his  head,  and  catching  sight  of  Mrs.  Ver- 
non as  he  did  so,  he  broke  with  an  easy  excuse  from 
the  toils  of  the  second  enchantress,  coming  straight 
to  the  elder  lady,  who  rose  from  her  chair  to  greet 
him. 

"So  it's  you!"  she  exclaimed  warmly.  "Why 
we  thought  you  were  still  yachting."  The  two  ad- 
jacent dowagers  made  two  plump  echoes  of  "  So  it 's 
you  " ;  and,  in  spite  of  their  heavy  bracelets,  lifted 
two  gracious  hands  to  him. 

The  listener  at  Mrs.  Vernon's  elbow  found  him- 
self scrutinizing  a  face  which  bore  the  stamp  of  in- 
tellect almost  as  clearly  as  did  his  own:  but  what- 
ever or  whoever  the  new  comer  might  be,  his  intel- 
lect for  the  time  appeared  to  have  surrendered  its 
place  to  a  frank  and  familiar  absorption  in  the  scene 
that  was  now  surrounding  him. 

"We  know,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  you  We  been 
yachting;  but  we  none  of  us  quite  know  where." 

"  That,"  he  replied,  "  is  a  statement  which  I  have 
no  difficulty  in  believing.  My  yacht  has  been  lying 
in  the  roadstead  of  a  ruined  Roman  watering  place 
—  you  never  even  heard  its  name  —  on  the  south 
coast  of  Asia  Minor.  Last  year  I  was  in  Crete.  I 
have  models  of  the  things  —  buildings  and  objects 
that  have  been  discovered  there.     This  spring  I  've 


Without  and  Within  5 

been  doing  a  little  private  excavation  on  my  own 
account." 

"  And  what  is  your  news? "  asked  one  of  the  gra- 
cious dowagers. 

"  I  've  none,"  was  the  answer  of  the  excavator. 
"  I  've  been  living  for  months  in  a  town  where  not  a 
single  indiscretion  has  been  committed  for  sixteen 
hundred  years." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  the  dowager,  "  you  must  pre- 
pare your  nerves  for  a  shock.  Mrs.  Yernon  and  I 
are  going  to  commit  two.  Our  first  is  to  ask  you  — 
for  you  ought  to  be  able  to  tell  us  —  are  those  enor- 
mous pearls  of  Mrs.  Majendie's  real? " 

"  I  confess,"  said  the  man,  "  I  have  not  myself  ex- 
amined them:  but  Lady  Eustace  Orwell,  only  a  mo- 
ment ago,  was  weighing  them  with  one  hand,  whilst 
she  was  caressing  Mrs.  Majendie  with  the  other;  and 
I  'm  certain,  from  her  look  of  mortification  she  dis- 
covered them  to  be  not  imitations." 

The  dowager  leaned  towards  Mrs.  Yernon.  "  My 
dear,"  she  said,  "isn't  he  wicked?  And  now  for 
indiscretion  number  two.  The  lovely  lady  to  whom 
you  were  talking  last  —  "  is  her  coloring  here  " — 
and  the  dowager  tapped  her  lips  with  her  fan  —  "  as 
real  as  the  other  one's  pearls? " 

"  It 's  so  many  years,"  replied  the  man,  "  since  I 
saw  much  of  her  that  I  really  should  be  afraid  to 
answer  you :  but  no  doubt  she  '11  tell  you.  I  '11  ask 
her.  My  dear  Beryl,"  he  said,  returning  to  the  lady 
in  question,  who  welcomed  him  back  with  a  smile  of 
petulant  pardon,  "  you  told  me  just  now  you  were 
thirsty.     Your  beautiful  lips  are  a  very  beautiful 


6  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

red.     Do  you  think  that  a  cup  of  hot  coffee  would 
hurt  them?  " 

"  You  ought  to  know/'  she  murmured  slowly,  fix- 
ing her  eyes  on  his.  "  I  'm  not  thirsty  any  longer. 
Sit  down  somewhere,  and  talk  to  me." 

u  Certainly,"  said  the  man,  with  an  air  of  most 
obliging  cheerfulness.  "Where  shall  we  be  most 
conspicuous?  " 

"  Rupert,"  said  the  lady,  "  you  're  a  pig  —  I  do  n't 
like  you  at  all.  You  'd  better  go  back  to  your  Mrs. 
Vernon." 

u  Well,"  said  the  man,  "  since  you  do  n't  like  me, 
I  will." 

Mrs.  Vernon's  grave  companion  who  had  been 
watching  the  speakers  closely,  had  enquired  who  this 
man  —  this  antiquary  from  Asia  Minor  —  was;  and 
had  given  a  visible  start  when  he  heard  Mrs.  Ver- 
non's answer.  kk  It  is  Rupert  Glanville,"  she  said. 
"  Did  n't  you  know  him  —  the  late  President  of  the 
Board  of  Trade?" 

"Rupert  Glanville!"  he  exclaimed.  "You  as- 
tonish me  —  you  do  n't  say  so !  —  one  of  the  few 
promising  writers  on  scientific  philosophy  —  one  of 
the  very  few  politicians  whose  acts  I  could  endorse 
as  reasonable!  So  that  's  he,  is  it?  Wonderful!  " 
Pleased  with  the  appreciation  which  these  utter- 
ances seemed  to  evince,  Mrs.  Vernon  said  eagerly, 
"  Let  me  introduce  you  —  do."  But  he  put  the  pro- 
posal aside  with  a  sort  of  distressed  nervousness,  and 
in  order  apparently  to  prevent  the  chance  of  its  be- 
ing carried  out,  he  lifted  himself  out  of  his  chair, 
and  addressed  himself  to  the  business  of  leave- 
taking. 


Without  and  Within  7 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Vernon,' '  he  said,  in  solemn  and 
judicial  accents,  "  I  am  deeply  indebted  to  you  for 
having  brought  me  here.  To-night  I  have  observed, 
and  I  have  observed  with  the  greatest  care  —  what 
is,  I  apprehend,  called  commonly  the  best  society. 
I  have  listened  and  listened  in  vain  —  I  except  of 
course  your  own  conversation  —  for  any  discussion 
of,  or  any  single  allustion  to,  any  fact  or  general 
principle  which  is  important  to  any  reasonable  be- 
ing. For  these  men  and  women  to  whom  all  the 
wealth  and  all  the  arts  of  the  modern  world  minis- 
ter, the  only  serious  matters,  so  far  as  I  am  able  to 
judge  are  particulars  like  those  which  are  serious 
for  the  gossips  of  the  village  snuff-shops  —  the  price 
of  the  petticoats  of  one  woman;  the  extent  to  which 
another  laces  her  liver  into  some  wrong  part  of  her 
body,  the  paint,  the  glass  beads  or  the  stone  beads  of 
a  third;  and  above  all  the  frequency  with  which  this 
or  that  spangled  puppet  violates,  or  is  supposed  to 
violate,  those  principles  of  monogamous  ethics  the 
social  importance  of  which  she  is  too  feather-headed 
to  comprehend.  Facts  like  these  are  not  life.  They 
are  playthings.  And  I  actually,"  he  continued, 
find  here,  comporting  himself  no  more  sanely  than 
the  rest  —  equally  pre-occupied  with  the  particular, 
equally  forgetful  of  the  universal  —  a  man  who 
might,  if  he  chose,  be  a  true  leader  of  thought.  Mrs. 
Vernon,  good  night.  This  is  my  first  fashionable 
party.     I  may  safely  aver  that  it  will  be  my  last." 

"Who  in  the  world  was  that?"  said  a  voice  in 
Mrs.  Vernon's  ear. 

She  turned  and  saw  that  the  questioner  was  Mr. 
Glanville    himself.      "  He 's    someone,"    she    said, 


8  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

who  's  been  asking  the  same  thing  about  you.  Take 
his  chair  and  I  '11  tell  you.  That  was  no  less  a  per- 
son than  the  great  Mr.  Cosmo  Brock." 

Mrs.  Vernon  had  named  a  man  who  indeed  might 
be  called  great  Not  only  in  England,  but  in  Ger- 
many, Kussia  and  America,  Mr.  Brock  was  recog- 
nized alike  by  his  friends  and  foes,  as  the  chief  phi- 
losophic unifier  of  the  world's  scientific  knowledge; 
and  he  had  recently  crowned  the  labors  of  fifty  years 
by  a  volume  which  claimed  to  exhibit  the  spiritual 
life  of  man  not  as  a  mystery  connected  with  the 
vanishing  dreams  of  priests,  but  a  good  intelligible 
process  like  those  of  growth  or  digestion. 

"  I  'm  sorry,"  said  Mr.  Glanville,  "  that  he  's  gone. 
I  should  like  to  have  made  his  acquaintance.  Did 
he  tell  you  he  had  taken  a  cottage  of  mine  for  the 
summer  months  in  Ireland?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  he  did  n't;  but  he  told 
me  one  thing  —  that  he  was  horrified  to  find  you 
enjoying  yourself  in  a  frivolous  place  like  this  —  a 
place  where  nobody  talks  a  single  word  of  philo- 
sophy ;  but  where  everybody  is  chattering  gossip,  or 
else  is  providing  food  for  it.  Well,"  Mrs.  Vernon 
added,  casting  down  her  thoughtful  eyes,  "  perhaps 
he  is  right  in  turning  his  back  on  all  of  us." 

"  My  good  friend,"  replied  Mr.  Glanville,  "  if  you 
think  that,  why  do  you  come  here?  Why  did  you 
take  the  trouble  to  put  on  those  beautiful  diamonds? 
Why  did  you  or  your  husband  go  to  the  expense  of 
buying  them? " 

This  sudden  attack  was  not  to  Mrs.  Vernon's  taste. 
u  I  did  n't  mean,"  she  said,  with  a  faint  note  of  im- 
patience, "  that  everybody  here  is  an  idle  and  frivo- 


Without  and  Within  9 

lous  person,  I  mean  that  people  as  you  see  them  in  a 
place  like  this  are  showing  for  the  moment  merely 
the  most  frivolous  side  of  themselves." 

"  That  depends/'  said  Mr.  Glanville,  "  not  so  much 
on  what  they  are  showing,  as  on  what  you  are  look- 
ing at.  If  you  look  at  a  clear  pool,  you  must,  I  am 
sure,  have  noticed  that,  according  to  the  focussing 
of  your  eyes,  you  may  see  inverted  foxgloves,  or  you 
may  see  the  water  itself,  or  the  stones  nickering  at 
the  bottom  of  it.  In  looking  at  a  party  like  this  you 
may  have  just  the  same  experience.  For  instance," 
he  continued,  sinking  into  a  more  comfortable  atti- 
tude, "  sitting  here,  I  see  the  frivolous  surface,  as 
you  do,  I  see  the  wig  of  a  great  aunt  of  mine  float- 
ing on  it.  I  believe  this  is  her  hundredth  birth-day. 
I  blink  my  eyes,  and  shining  below  the  frivolous  sur- 
face, I  see  youth  which  fancies  that  its  fate  may  be 
awaiting  it  under  every  palm-tree  —  as  I  myself  did 
once  —  and  hopes  to  find  in  some  kiss  the  sacrament 
of  its  faith  in  happiness,  before  that  lamplit  garden 
begins  to  grow  haggard  in  the  morning.  I  blink  my 
eyes  again;  and  I  see  age  and  maturity,  and  even 
youth,  grown  a  little  less  youthful  —  trying  to  find 
some  substitute  for  the  happiness  which  is  gained  by 
nobody,  or  else  drilling  themselves  to  disguise,  or 
contriving  to  forget,  sorrow." 

Though  Mrs.  Vernon  had  spent  most  of  her  life 
exclusively  in  what  is  called  the  world,  she  had  none 
the  less  a  certain  strain  of  romance  in  her.  In  her 
youth  she  had  married  a  man  who  was  at  the  time 
poor;  and  a  breach  between  her  mother  and  herself, 
which  had  never  been  healed,  had  been  the  conse- 
quence.    She  looked  at  Mr.  Glanville  gravely,  and, 


io  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

in  spite  of  herself,  she  sighed.  She  was  not,  how- 
ever, given  to  sighing,  and  she  quickly  recovered  her 
serenity.  a  So  one,"  she  said  lightly,  M  would  think 
you  had  many  sorrows,  to  look  at  you." 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  I  have  one.  I  had  hardly  any 
dinner,  and  I  'm  hungry.  I  see  that  the  supper- 
room  ?s  open.     Shall  we  help  each  other  up  and  go?  " 

Mrs.  Vernon  assented  with  alacrity.  She  was 
once  again  all  smiles :  and  if  anything  was  wanting  to 
restore  her  to  her  normal  self,  it  wa^  supplied  by  a 
refreshing  benediction  from  Royalty,  as  she  entered 
the  supper-room.  She  and  her  companion  found 
seats  at  a  table,  which  was  vacant  except  for  two  of 
her  own  most  fashionable  intimates:  and  Mr.  Glan- 
ville  for  some  minutes,  like  Mr.  Cosmo  Brock,  was 
merely  a  listener  to  her  conversation  with  the  lady 
next  whom  she  had  placed  herself.  "  Do  you 
mean,"  he  heard  her  saying  in  answer  to  some  ques- 
tion, u  that  ugly  red-headed  man  who  is  spoiling 
Lady  Croydon's  fan  for  her.  Do  n't  you  know?  It  \s 
Lord  Croydon's  latest  understudy.  Would  you  like 
to  meet  them  both?  They  are  dining  with  me  on 
Friday  week.  My  dear,  I  must  tell  you  —  Mr. 
Glanville,  you  're  not  to  listen  —  I  must  tell  you 
what  happened  at  Hurlingham."  Thereupon  fol- 
lowed a  series  of  mysterious  whispers,  which  Mrs. 
Vernon  concluded  with  the  audible  and  crisp  obser- 
vation, u  that  it  was  bad  enough  for  Agatha  Croy- 
don to  lose  her  brilliant  complexion;  but  it  was  very 
much  worse  for  everybody  when  we  found  it  on  his 
shoulder.  Ah,"  she  concluded,  beckoning  to  another 
friend  in  the  background,  u  here  are  two  chairs. 
Come   here."      And   presently,    at   Mr.    Glanville's 


Without  and  Within  1 1 

side  a  flutter  of  tulle  and  a  glimmer  of  pearls  de- 
scended; whilst  the  babyish  and  fugitive  pressure  of 
an  arm  applied  to  his  own  gave  him  delicate  notice 
of  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Majendie. 

"My  dear  Molly/'  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  stretching 
across  him  to  shake  hands  with  her,  and  generously 
forgetful  of  her  own  late  judgments  and  prophecies, 
"  I  've  been  trying  all  the  evening  to  get  at  you. 
Are  you  dining  out  on  the  twenty-fifth?  Come  to 
me,  if  you  're  not.  You  too,  Mr.  Glanville  —  both 
of  you.  Telephone  to-morrow  morning  when  you  've 
looked  at  your  books  of  engagements." 

Mrs.  Majendie  laid  a  hand  appealingiy  on  Mr. 
Glanville's  cuff.  "  I  'm  sure  you  've  a  pencil,"  she 
said.     "  Be  a  dear,  and  write  down  the  day  for  me." 

Mr.  Glanville  did  so  on  a  menu,  whilst  Mrs.  Ma- 
jendie's  lawful  partner  sat  staring  at  distant  objects 
in  attitudes  of  furious  indifference.  Mrs.  Majendie 
bent  over  the  card  in  an  artless  and  confiding  man- 
ner, till  one  of  her  flowers  had  the  air  of  belonging 
to  Mr.  Glanville's  button-hole.  Mr.  Glanville 
looked  at  her  with  a  smile  in  which  memories  of  her 
began  to  mantle. 

"  Have  you  bought,"  he  said,  "  any  more  of  those 
charming  little  green-and-gold  books,  which  you  car- 
ried about  in  Scotland,  along  with  your  cigarette- 
case,  in  a  charming  little  green-and-gold  bag? " 

Mrs.  Majendie  returned  his  look.  All  the  compli- 
cated instincts  of  flirtation  appeared  to  be  celebrat- 
ing a  kind  of  Walpurgis-night  in  her  eyes. 

"  Do  you  remember,"  he  continued,  "  how  I  found 
you  one  day  on  a  sofa,  in  a  rose  du-Barry  tea-gown, 
reading  Thomas-a-Kempis  ?  " 


12  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

"  My  dear  little  books  —  I  love  them,"  said  Mrs. 
Majendie  softly.  "  Perhaps  some  day  you  '11  advise 
me  about  my  reading.  I  've  no  one  to  help  me  about 
anything  that  really  matters." 

"  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Glanville,  attuning  his  voice 
to  hers,  "  I  could  advise  you  as  to  one  point  now. 
Your  eyes,  when  you  read,  look  beautiful.  Read- 
ing, for  a  face  like  yours,  is  a  kind  of  spiritual  cos- 
metic; and  the  green  morocco  of  your  bindings  is 
very  becoming  to  your  hand.  But  the  next  time 
you  take  up  Thomas-a-Kempis  —  may  I  suggest  one 
thing? " 

"  Please,"  murmured  Mrs.  Majendie.  "  It  would 
be  nice  of  you!  " 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Glanville,  "  do  n't  hold  him  up- 
side down." 

The  petals  of  a  blush  opened  on  Mrs.  Majendie's 
cheek.  Mr.  Glanville  laughed.  "  You  're  a  nasty 
story-teller,"  she  said:  and  turning  sharp  round  to 
her  partner,  exclaimed  sharply  to  him,  "  What's  the 
good  of  you?  I  thought  you  were  to  get  me  a 
quail." 

This  onslaught  restored  the  neglected  man  to 
beatitude,  whilst  Mr.  Glanville  resumed  his  atten- 
tions to  Mrs.  Vernon. 

"  I  'm  very  much  afraid,"  he  said,  "  that  I  can  't 
dine  as  you  asked  me.  I  should  like  to  have  met 
Lady  Croydon  and  Lord  Croydon's  understudy.  But 
tell  me,"  he  went  on  gravely,  "  in  the  days  when  you 
were  first  married,  were  people  as  kind  as  appar- 
ently they  are  now?  You,  for  instance,  when  your 
own  husband  had  what  you  call  an  understudy  —  did 


Without  and  Within  13 

they  ask  you  and  that  happiest  of  mankind  to  meet 
each  other?  " 

Mrs.  Vernon  stared  at  him,  as  if  she  could  hardly 
believe  her  ears.  "  I  do  n't  know  what  you  mean/' 
she  said,  in  a  voice  hardly  recognizable  as  her  own. 
For  a  couple  of  seconds  Mr.  Glanville  defied  the 
lightning.     Then  his  gravity  melted. 

u  I  know,"  he  said,  "  you  are  everything  that  the 
wife  of  Caesar  ought  to  have  been.  You  are  hor- 
rified at  the  idea  that  anyone  should  imagine  you 
otherwise.  But  I  want  you  to  tell  me  this  —  for 
you  really  have  made  me  curious.  Why  do  you  — 
a  clever  woman  like  you  —  treat  conduct  in  other 
women  as  a  pretty  foible  to  laugh  about,  and  even 
as  a  reason  for  asking  them  to  your  house  to  dinner, 
when  you  'd  murder  them  or  tear  their  eyes  out  if 
they  ventured  to  attribute  it  to  yourself?  " 

Mrs.  Vernon  had  by  this  time  swallowed  her  rage. 
She  had  even  abstractedly  swallowed  a  piece  of  lob- 
ster as  well ;  but  —  a  rare  occurrence  with  her  — 
she  was  somewhat  at  a  loss  for  an  answer.  At  last 
with  a  cough  and  an  effort,  she  began  huskily,  "  I 
suppose  the  explanation  of  that  lies  deep  down  in 
human  nature.  I  might  as  well  ask  you  what  makes 
you  talk  as  you  Ve  been  doing  to  that  little  minx 
on  the  other  side  of  you,  when  you  can  't  by  any 
possibility  — " 

Here,  however,  she, was  interrupted  by  a  young 
son  of  the  house,  who  standing  by  her  chair  was  pre- 
senting her  with  a  telegram  marked  "  Urgent."  "  I 
took  it,"  he  said,  "  from  one  of  the  servants,  who  was 
wandering  vaguely  in  search  of  you." 

Mrs.  Vernon's  hand  shook  a  little  as  she  received 


14  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

the  unexpected  missive.  Then  she  gave  it  to  Mr. 
Glanville,  saying  "I  wish  you  'd  open  it.  I  hope 
there  's  nothing  wrong  with  Kobert.  Do  n't  read  it 
here.     Come  to  some  place  that  's  quiet." 

They  both  rose.  "  Let  us  go,"  he  said,  "  into  the 
garden." 

Mrs.  Vernon  was  presently  passing  out  through  an 
open  window;  whilst  Mr.  Glanville  for  a  moment 
paused  to  look  at  the  telegram.  The  walks  were 
bordered  with  rows  of  twinkling  lamps;  and  glim- 
mering skirts  and  the  black  forms  of  men  moved 
through  an  artificial  twilight  that  tingled  with  laugh- 
ing whispers. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  "  sit  down.  It 's  nothing  to  do 
with  Vernon,  and  you  have  not  lost  your  fortune  on 
the  Stock  Exchange.  The  news  is  serious,  but  you 
can  bear  it.  Your  mother  died  an  hour  ago  at 
Brighton.  Would  you  like  to  go  home?  Tell  me. 
Would  you  like  me  to  see  you  to  your  carriage? " 

"  No,  no,"  she  said  absently.  "  Let  me  sit  on 
here  a  little  longer  and  talk  to  you."  Mr.  Glanville 
waited  for  her  to  begin.  He  waited  for  a  long  time. 
"What  a  horrid  woman  I  am!"  she  exclaimed  at 
last.  "  Do  you  know  what  it  is  I  've  been  thinking 
about?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  smiling  slightly,  "I  know  per- 
fectly well.  You  've  been  thinking  about  that  din- 
ner of  yours  for  the  twenty-fifth  —  that  delightful 
dinner  for  the  little  minx  and  the  understudy,  which 
will  have  to  be  put  off." 

"How  on  earth,"  she  asked  starting,  "how  on 
earth  did  you  know  that? " 

"  Merely,"  he  said,  "  because  this  party  is  an  epi- 


Without  and  Within  15 

tome  of  human  nature.  If  you  like  I  can  tell  you 
more.  You  've  been  thinking  also  about  all  your 
other  engagements,  and  your  smart  new  frocks  that 
will  be  wasted,  and  your  mourning,  and  who  shall 
make  it.     Myself,  I  should  recommend  Jay's." 

"  Do  you  despise  me? "  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  whose 
eyes  were  ceasing  to  be  quite  dry.  "  Do  you  look  on 
me  as  utterly  devoid  of  feeling  ?  I  'm  not,  though  I 
know  I  seem  so." 

"  Nonsense,"  he  said  kindly.  "  You  do  n't  seem  so 
at  all.  Whenever  anything  happens  like  that  which 
has  happened  now,  our  thoughts  fly  for  refuge  to 
some  spot  that  is  far  from  the  real  catastrophe.  The 
Hebrew  prophets  made  refuges  of  this  kind  deliber- 
ately. They  rent  their  garments  when  denouncing 
the  sins  of  their  countrymen,  so  as  to  forget  the  di- 
vine wrath  in  their  sorrow  for  their  own  torn 
trousers." 

Mrs.  Yernon  laughed  faintly.  "Keep  on  talk- 
ing," she  said.     "  It  calms  my  nerves  to  listen." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Glanville,  "you're  begin- 
ning to  feel  now  that  it 's  a  little  incongruous  for  you 
to  be  still  sitting  on  at  a  ball,  which  according  to  you 
is  a  mere  scene  of  frivolity." 

"Yes,"  murmured  Mrs.  Yernon,  as  though  she 
were  talking  to  herself.  "  Mr.  Brock  was  right  when 
he  said  that  a  party  like  this  is  not  life  —  it's  noth- 
ing." 

"  And  I,"  said  Mr.  Glanville,  "  tell  you  that  the 
good  Mr.  Brock  was  wrong.  Let  us  grant,  if  you 
like,  that  what  we  have  here  is  frivolity.  The  friv- 
olity of  man  is  itself  as  serious  a  fact  as  death  —  and 
just  as  universal  a  fact.     A  ball  like  this,  though 


16  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

perhaps  you  may  not  think  it,  represents  a  great  deal 
more  than  the  amusement  of  a  small  rich  class.  It 
really  represents  the  struggles  of  all  humanity  —  of 
clerks  and  shop-girls  round  the  band-stand  on  Mar- 
gate jetty  —  of  brick-layers  in  their  public  houses  — 
of  colliers  with  their  pigeons  and  grey-hounds  —  of 
children  dancing  on  the  pavement  —  the  struggle  for 
what  this  world  can  give.  In  a  ball  of  this  particu- 
lar kind  there  is  one  peculiarity  only  —  that  the 
world  is  doing  its  utmost  so  far  as  its  powers 
extend;  and  it  is  only  when  it  is  doing  its  ut- 
most that  we  can  judge  of  its  resources  fairly. 
And  by  itself  what  can  it  do?  I  know  it  well; 
and  it  has  treated  me  with  great  generosity.  I 
have  no  quarrel  with  it.  But  the  best  and  most 
friendly  action  that  the  world  can  do  me  now  is  to 
distract  my  attention  from  what  it  has  failed  to  give. 
I  asked  you  —  you  remember  —  why  the  tone  of 
your  conversation  in  society  has  so  little  connection 
with  the  principles  that  govern  your  private  con- 
duct. I  can  tell  you  one  of  the  reasons.  In  society 
we  are  like  plovers.  "We  make  our  several  noises  at 
a  distance  from  our  own  nests  —  because  our  nests 
are  so  full  of  what  we  value  that  we  do  n't  want 
others  to  look  at  them;  or  else,  because  they  are  so 
empty  that  we  do  n't  want  to  look  at  them  our- 
selves." 

u  It  surprises  me,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  to  hear  you 
talking;  in  this  way.  I  thought  you  cared  for  noth- 
ing."  " 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Glanville  laughing,  "  that  per- 
haps is  my  malady.  I  do  n't  care  any  longer  for  this 
party  at  all  events.     Whenever  you  like  to  go,  you 


Without  and  Within  17 

will  find  me  eager  to  follow  you.  Shall  it  be  now? 
Come  then.  And  listen  —  I  have  something  to  pro- 
pose to  you.  My  mother's  great-grandfather,"  he 
continued,  as  they  both  rose,  "  was  an  Irish  Bishop." 

This  opening  statement  was  not  particularly  il- 
luminating; but  Mrs.  Yernon,  by  the  time  he  had 
put  her  into  her  brougham,  had  both  understood  his 
proposal,  and  had  accepted  it. 

Mr.  Glanville,  when  she  had  driven  away,  strolled 
down  the  line  of  carriages  which  were  crawling  up 
to  the  portico  with  its  crimson  drugget.  Through 
gates  of  gilded  iron-work  he  gained  the  street  out- 
side. The  night  was  stifling.  The  street,  with  its 
wood  pavement,  roasted  by  weeks  of  drought,  smelt 
like  an  open  drain.  A  rush  of  unresting  noises  beset 
him  as  he  walked  home.  Splinters  of  the  pavement 
blew  in  his  eyes  and  nostrils.  "  Only,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "  another  ten  days  of  this,  and  then  — " 
But  he  was  here  interrupted  by  the  sound  of  his  own 
name;  and  he  found  himself  overtaken  by  one  of 
his  late  ministerial  colleagues,  who  explained  that  he 
had  followed  him  from  the  ball,  on  purpose  to  get 
a  word  with  him. 

"  I  saw,"  he  said,  "  in  the  papers  you  were  just 
back  from  the  East.  If  I  had  n't  caught  you  I 
should  have  written.  Our  friend  Mrs.  Yernon  to- 
night would  n't  give  me  a  chance.  At  any  rate  I 
suppose  she's  told  you  all  the  Cabinet  secrets." 

"  For  the  last  four  months,"  said  Mr.  Glanville, 
"  I  've  forgotten  that  Cabinets  exist.  She  merci- 
fully forbore  from  reminding  me  of  the  unwelcome 
fact." 

"  You  have  n't  heard,  then,"  said  his  friend,  "  what 


1 8  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

has  happened  during  the  past  week?  Our  great  man 
had  taken  the  plunge  at  last.  The  murder  will  be 
out  next  week,  and  Heaven  knows  what  will  come  of 
it.  There  's  bound  to  be  a  split  in  the  Cabinet  be- 
fore the  end  of  the  Autumn.  But  first  —  upon  my 
word,  he  's  a  wonderful  tactician,  our  friend  is  — 
the  country  is  to  be  educated  by  means  of  an  Official 
Enquiry;  and  you,  my  dear  Glanville,  are  the  man 
of  all  men  to  conduct  it.  It 's  your  own  subject. 
You  're  the  best  statistician  we  have.  You 
need  n't,"  he  said,  when  at  last  he  had  fully  unbur- 
dened himself,  "  you  need  n't  decide  at  once.  To- 
morrow I  must  go  to  Scotland :  but  think  the  matter 
over,  and  meet  me  a  fortnight  hence.  I  shall  be 
back  in  London  then.  Saturday  week  —  do  you 
think  you  could  manage  that?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Glanville  laughing,  "  I  'm  sorry  to 
say  I  could  n't.  And  yet,  my  dear  fellow,  when  I 
think  of  the  reason  why,  though  it  does  n't  seem  civil 
to  say  so,  I  feel  uncommonly  glad.  And  yet  again," 
he  continued,  suddenly  stopping  in  his  walk,  "  should 
my  help  really  be  necessary,  I  will  not  shrink  from 
helping  you:  but  do  n't,  before  my  time,  call  me  back 
to  the  house  of  bondage." 


CHAPTER    II 

AN  early  morning  of  July  was  crystal,  streaked 
with  vapor,  as  it  shone  on  the  sheds  and  offices 
of  a  small  railway  junction,  and  the  dews  that  were 
still  fleecy  on  the  pebbles  of  its  gravelled  platform. 
All  around  was  a  country  of  moorland  and  bare  hills, 
and  long  undulations  colored  with  purple  heather. 
In  the  neighborhood  of  the  station  were  a  few  white- 
washed buildings,  including  one  which  proclaimed 
itself  an  hotel  and  a  posting-house;  whilst,  dotting 
the  distance,  were  far-scattered  low-browed  cabins, 
from  some  of  which  wreaths  of  smoke  were  already 
straying  across  the  air.  Except  for  these  wreaths  of 
smoke,  all  the  world  seemed  sleeping. 

On  the  platform  were  a  few  fish-hampers,  and  a 
pile  of  unguarded  luggage.  A  short  siding  was  oc- 
cupied by  a  spick-and-span  varnished  car,  obviously 
pertaining  to  a  new  light  railway.  Moisture  was 
dripping  from  its  roof,  and  trickling  down  its  win- 
dows. Presently  the  opening  of  a  door  jarred  on 
the  deep  stillness.  A  porter  issued,  and  went  slouch- 
ing along  a  line  of  palings  to  a  gate  above  which  was 
a  board  bearing  the  words  "  Way  out."  He  lifted 
the  latch,  as  though  to  admit  someone ;  and  another 
sound  was  by  this  time  adding  itself  to  that  of  his 
movements.  It  was  the  sound  of  voices  in  conver- 
sation near  the  opposite  end  of  the  platform,  which 
two  figures  were  approaching  from  the  open  moor 

*9 


20  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

beyond,  picking  their  way  lazily  through  the  gorse 
and  the  long  grass. 

One  of  them  was  dressed  carelessly  in  an  ulster  of 
rough  Scotch  tweed;  and  his  reddish  hair  curled  in 
a  swinging  mass,  which  gave  him  the  air  of  an  un- 
shorn German  student.  His  companion,  on  the  con- 
trary, though  his  clothes  were  far  from  new,  bore  in 
every  detail  of  his  person  the  stamp  of  unconscious 
fashion,  and  he  moved  with  the  easy  gait  of  a  man 
who  could  command  the  world. 

"  Alistair,"  said  the  latter  to  his  companion,  look- 
ing round  him  at  the  wild  landscape,  "  I  'm  like 
Christian  when  he  lost  his  bundle.  There  's  a  magic 
for  me  in  every  heather-bell,  even  in  those  black  ruts 
worn  by  the  peasants'  peat-carts.  I  feel  as  young  as 
the  morning;  and  presently  we  shall  both  feel 
younger;  for  —  look,  my  dear  fellow  —  Jackson  has 
done  his  duty  He  has  got  us  a  table  from  the  inn 
and  is  bringing  it  out  on  the  platform;  and  here 
comes  somebody  else  with  the  breakfast  and  a  clean 
table-cloth.  I  can  smell  the  delightful  smell  of  the 
bad  coffee  already.  Now,"  he  went  on,  when  they 
had  reached  the  table  in  question,  at  which  a  well- 
groomed  English  servant  was  busy  with  plates  and 
dishes,  "  let  us  eat  and  be  thankful,  as  though  we 
were  still  two  under-graduates.  What  —  do  you 
mean  to  say  that  you  turn  up  your  nose  at  the  butter? 
If  your  fork  is  dirty,  clean  it  by  running  the  prongs 
through  your  napkin.  The  coffee  is  mud  —  but  for 
me  it  is  mud  enchanted.  I  told  you,  you  know,  that 
I  was  taking  you  into  the  wilderness.  I  hope  you  're 
not  frightened  by  this  beginning  of  hardships. 
We're   still  —  though  perhaps  you  haven't  quite 


Without  and  Within  21 

grasped  the  fact  —  fifty  miles  from  the  hermitage  in 
which  I  am  going  to  immure  you.  I  ordered  a  car- 
riage to  take  us  the  whole  of  the  way  by  road:  but 
we  can,  if  you  like  it  better,  wait  here  a  couple  of 
hours,  and  go  part  of  the  way  in  that  car  by  the  new 
light  railway.  "We  could  either  get  out  at  a  station 
twenty-five  miles  off,  and  drive  to  my  hermitage  an- 
other twenty-five  miles  from  there;  or  we  could  go 
on  to  Ballyf  ergus,  where  the  light  railway  ends,  and 
finish  our  journey  with  twenty  miles  of  sea.  Bally- 
fergus  is  an  odd  little  watering-place  which  is  just 
rising  into  fame.  It  ?s  a  grand  resort  of  the  clergy, 
and  a  clerical  hotel  has  been  started  there,  with  a 
low  tariff,  a  chapel,  and  a  room  for  religious  confer- 
ences. The  gay  worldlings  of  Ballyfergus  will  be 
our  distant  and  our  only  neighbors." 

The  man  addressed  as  Alistair  declared  himself, 
without  hesitation,  in  favor  of  performing  the  whole 
journey  by  road;  and  proceeded  to  rally  his  friend 
on  the  fact  of  his  having  turned  his  back  on  the 
luxuries  and  excitements  of  civilization,  and  burying 
himself  in  a  seclusion  so  rude  as  that  for  which  they 
now  were  bound.  "  At  Oxford,"  he  said,  "  you 
laughed  at  me  for  my  obstinately  simple  tastes. 
Yours  have  at  last  become  more  primitive  even  than 
mine." 

The  two  breakfasters  were  still  lingering  over 
their  coffee-cups  when  their  sense  of  privacy  was  dis- 
turbed by  a  rumbling  sound;  and  a  short  train  of 
unwashed  wheezing  carriages  slid  by  them,  and  drew 
up  with  a  jerk.  A  few  peasants  descended,  who 
quickly  passed  through  the  wicket,  and  were  lost  to 
sight  before  the  train  had  gone  on  again:  and  the 


22  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

breakfasters,  having  cast  a  glance  at  them  were  pre- 
paring to  light  cigars,  when  the  one  whose  conversa- 
tion showed  that  he  was  about  to  be  the  host  of  the 
other,  perceived  that  the  train  had  deposited  not  the 
peasants  only,  but  also  a  pile  of  bulky  feminine  lug- 
gage, and  a  woman  standing  by  it,  who  had  all  the 
air  of  a  maid. 

"  That  luggage,"  he  said,  "  I  '11  bet  you  what  you 
please,  is  not  going  to  the  Clerical  Hotel  at  Bally- 
fergus." 

His  interest  had  at  once  been  aroused;  and  a  mo- 
ment later  it  was  increased,  when  a  second  female 
figure  —  evidently  the  maid's  mistress  —  was  seen 
to  emerge  from  the  booking-office,  in  consultation 
with  the  solitary  porter.  A  long  coral-colored  cloak 
accentuated  rather  than  hid  the  grace  of  her  erect 
form.  The  spirit  of  daintiness  showed  itself  unmis- 
takably in  the  tips  of  her  boots,  her  hat,  and  a  brace- 
let on  a  gloved  wrist. 

"  She,"  said  the  man  who  was  watching  her  with 
a  smile  of  half-amused  appreciation,  "isn't  going, 
my  dear  Alistair,  to  the  Clerical  Hotel  either.  The 
old  Adam  in  me  insists  on  having  his  curiosity  grati- 
fied." 

He  rose  and  strolled  negligently  in  the  direction 
of  the  tantalizing  stranger.  His  friend's  eyes  fol- 
lowed him.  They  saw  him  pass  her  with  the  slightest 
of  momentary  looks  at  her,  as  she  still  remained 
talking  to  the  porter.  Then  they  saw  him  suddenly 
check  himself,  return  to  her,  and  raise  his  hat.  To 
all  appearances,  her  first  surprise  being  over,  she  re- 
ceived his  advances  civilly.  A  short  conversation 
followed;    and  then,  to  his  friend's  astonishment, 


Without  and  Within  23 

he  and  the  lady  walked  together  in  the  most  amicable 
manner  towards  the  breakfast  table. 

"  I  'm  sure,"  he  said,  when  they  reached  it,  "  you 
will  find  this  better  than  the  inn.  My  friend  and  I 
can  bequeath  you  some  execrable  coffee  to  begin 
with  —  we  're  just  going  off  in  a  carriage  whose 
wheels  I  hear  already  —  and  your  maid  will  extract 
from  the  inn-keeper  whatever  he  has  to  give  you. 
Jackson,  go  with  this  lady's  maid  to  the  inn,  and  see 
that  something  to  eat  is  sent  out  to  her  here:  and 
you,  my  dear  Alistair,  will  you  pick  out  from  your 
luggage  the  things  you  want  to  take  in  the  carriage 
with  you." 

The  lady,  who  had  meanwhile  accepted  a  chair 
he  had  offered  her,  thanked  him  in  a  musical  voice 
with  an  air  of  the  most  suave  composure.  His  eyes 
sought  hers  through  her  veil,  and  a  laugh  was  ex- 
changed between  them. 

"  Would  you,"  he  said,  "  think  me  very  officious 
and  presuming  if  I  brushed  away  these  bread-crumbs 
for  you,  and  perhaps  sat  down  for  a  minute  or  two? 
I  shall  hardly  have  time  to  make  myself  very  ob- 
jectionable." 

"  I  've  driven  your  friend,"  said  the  lady,  "  from 
his  chair  already.  I  should  not  be  human  if  I  drove 
you  from  yours  also." 

She  laid,  as  she  spoke,  a  small  book  on  the  table, 
and  with  a  pair  of  delicate  hands  proceeded  to  raise 
her  veil.  She  was  young,  though  she  was  no  mere 
girl.  Her  complexion  had  the  pallor  of  illness;  but 
her  cheeks  showed  already  the  pink  of  returning 
health.  In  her  dark  thoughtful  eyes  was  a  softness 
that  was  almost  sullen;   but  they  laughed  when  she 


24  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

spoke,  and  the  corners  of  her  mouth  kept  them  com- 
pany. Her  companion  looked  at  her  with  a  glance 
of  respectfully  diffident  curiosity,  which  then,  with 
adroit  promptness  transferred  itself  from  her  to  her 
book.  The  title,  legible  in  clear  gold  letters,  sur- 
prised him. 

"  What!  "  he  said.     "  Do  you  read  Pascal?  " 

"  If  you  doubt  it,"  she  replied,  "  you  may  open  the 
book  where  the  marker  is,  and  you  '11  see  I  've  put  a 
cross  against  a  passage  where  I  did  n't  agree  with  the 
gentleman." 

"  Is  this  it?  "  he  asked  her,  taking  up  the  book  and 
reading  '  True  conversion  is  to  abase  ourselves  be- 
fore this  Sovereign  Being,  whom  we  have  so  often 
provoked,  and  who  may,  any  moment,  without  the 
least  injustice  destroy  us.'  " 

"  To  my  mind,"  said  the  lady,  "  that  sort  of  thing 
is  silly.  If  the  Sovereign  Being  made  us,  he  made 
us  what  we  are.  Why  do  we  merit  his  wrath  because 
we  're  not  something  else?-  Would  a  converted  can- 
ary apologize  for  the  sin  of  being  not  a  bullfinch? 
But  I  must  n't,"  she  went  on,  "  keep  you  from  your 
friend  and  your  carriage.  Your  friend,  I  am  sure, 
among  the  possible  misfortunes  of  his  journey,  never 
included  a  delay  caused  by  your  discussing  theology 
with  a  stranger  whose  mind  is  too  weak  for  anything 
but  a  railway  novel." 

"  I  will,"  he  exclaimed,  "  take  you  at  your  word 
about  one  thing."  He  rose,  and  went  quickly  to  the 
gate  where  the  carriage  was  now  waiting;  and  a 
moment  later  came  back  again  bearing  a  yellow 
volume.  "You've  two  hours  to  spend  here,"  he 
said.     u  This  will  be  a  change  from  Pascal,  and  will 


Without  and  Within  25 

help  you  to  beguile  your  time.  It 's  a  story  which, 
when  once  you  Ve  begun  it,  you  must  read  to  the  end; 
and  which  no  one  who  had  read  it  to  the  end  could 
ever  open  again.  I  ?ve  read  it  to  the  end  myself; 
and  so  if  I  may  make  you  a  present  of  it,  its  value 
need  not  embarrass  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  with  a  charming  and  cor- 
dial laugh.  "  Thank  you  a  thousand  times.  I  've 
not  read  a  novel  for  weeks.  I  Ve  been  having  a 
rest-cure,  and  am  now  going  to  finish  it  by  the  sea." 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  "  I  can  guess  the  place.  If  I 
happen  to  see  you  there,  I  shall  struggle  for  suffi- 
cient effrontery  to  ask  you  how  you  liked  the  novel, 
and  if  you  still  think  so  ill  of  Pascal." 

He  was  lifting  his  hat  and  preparing  to  say  good- 
bye, when  she  rose  from  her  seat  and  frankly  held 
out  her  hand  to  him. 

"  I  'm  sure,"  she  said  as  she  looked  at  him,  "  that 
I  've  seen  your  face  before." 

■  Perhaps,"  he  replied,  when  his  hand  parted  from 
hers,  "  you  have  seen  some  caricatures  of  it,  and  may 
one  day  see  some  more." 


CHAPTER    III 

UTS  that  jour  hermitage?  "  —  exclaimed  Alistair 
1  Seaton  at  last  —  that  building  like  a  little 
Greek  temple,  at  the  edge  of  those  long  woods  ?  " 

"  Does  it,"  enquired  Rupert  Glanville  —  for  the 
speaker  was  none  other  than  he  —  "  look  too  small 
and  too  humble  for  you?  Do  n't  be  disheartened  till 
we  get  to  it.  My  butter,  at  all  events,  will  be  eat- 
able ;  and  your  bed  will  be  quite  clean." 

By  this  time  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon.  The 
travellers  had  been  delayed  at  a  village  where  they 
changed  horses,  by  the  fact  that  one  of  the  animals 
bespoken  and  got  ready  for  their  service  had  been 
borrowed  by  the  priest,  shortly  before  their  arrival, 
to  carry  him  off  to  the  bed  of  a  dying  parishioner; 
and  several  hours  elapsed  before  they  could  resume 
their  journey.  At  last  there  had  risen  into  view 
stretches  of  green  woodland,  and  the  unfenced  road, 
bordered  with  stones  and  heather,  was  descending 
now  towards  them.  In  one  place  the  woods  parted ; 
between  them  was  the  blue  of  the  sea;  and  white 
against  the  dark  foliage,  the  building  like  a  little 
Greek  temple  formed  an  odd  and  incongruous  object 
in  the  primitive  and  lonely  landscape. 

"  Look,"  said  Rupert  Glanville,  as  they  approached 
it,  "  in  the  portico  of  the  temple  is  a  goddess.  Do 
you  think  she  is  Pallas  Athene,  and  would  you  like 
to  talk  Greek  to  her?     Myself,  I  shall  try  the  ver- 

26 


Without  and  Within  27 

nacular.  Ah,  Mrs.  O'Flanagan,  and  it 's  glad  I  am 
to  see  you  again,"  he  shouted,  leaning  from  the  car- 
riage, as  soon  as  they  came  within  earshot  of  her. 
The  goddess,  who  appeared  as  antique  as  Pallas 
Athene  herself,  but  whose  lips  were  creased  round 
the  stem  of  a  short  modern  tobacco-pipe,  responded 
with  a  low  curtsey;  and  the  carriage,  instead  of 
stopping,  swept  into  the  shadow  of  the  trees.  The 
surface  of  the  road  now  suddenly  changed.  It  was 
smooth  and  gravelled.  On  either  side  was  an  under- 
growth of  luxuriant  rhododendrons;  and  a  mile  or 
so  farther  on  the  carriage,  turning  sharp  round  a 
corner,  drew  up  before  a  building  —  a  mixture  of 
dilapidation  and  grandeur  —  which  was  something 
like  the  little  Greek  temple,  on  a  very  much  magni- 
fied scale.  Stucco  was  peeling  everywhere,  like  a 
patient  after  scarlet  fever;  but  the  echoes  of  a  por- 
tico more  capacious  than  the  entire  dwelling  of  Mrs. 
OTlanagan  gave  the  travellers  a  hollow  and  majestic 
welcome.  The  tall  doors  were  at  once  thrown  open 
by  servants  whose  clothes  and  demeanor  had  all  the 
air  of  London;  and  Alistair  Seaton  realized  that  his 
friend's  hermitage  was  in  some  ways  a  different  place 
from  what  he  had  been  led  to  anticipate. 

On  entering,  his  steps  resounded  in  a  bare  vesti- 
bule, furnished  only  with  a  couple  of  old  marble 
tables,  on  which  stood  some  busts,  and  some  small 
Eoman  altars.  From  this  he  followed  his  host  into 
an  inner  hall,  where  his  eyes  were  met  with  a  vision 
of  statues,  a  double  staircase,  and  bad  eighteenth- 
century  copies  of  huge  Italian  paintings.  A  moment 
later  he  had  passed  into  a  small  library  lined  with 
the  glimmer  of  books  in  old  calf  bindings,  and  full  of 


28  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

a  homely  sense  of  habitation  and  intimate  comfort. 
The  window  was  open;  there  were  roses  in  china 
bowls,  and  a  table  prepared  for  tea  was  shining  with 
Irish  silver. 

"  So  this,"  said  Alistair  Seaton,  with  a  laugh  of 
half-pleased  disappointment,  as  he  contemplated  a 
dish  of  crescent-shaped  Trench  rolls,  "  so  this  is  the 
hermit's  cell;  if  I  did  n't  see  the  mitre  of  a  Christian 
bishop  on  your  butter-pats,  I  should  feel  like  a  monk 
in  the  desert,  who  had  been  seduced  into  an  en- 
chanted garden." 

"  I  said,"  Glanville  replied,  "  I  could  promise  you 
good  butter.  Sit  down  and  eat,  and  I  '11  tell  you 
what  this  place  is.  It  was  built  by  my  mother's 
grandfather  in  the  reign  of  George  III.  He  was  a 
Bishop  of  the  Church  of  Christ  as  established  by  law 
in  Ireland.  Hence  the  mitre  on  the  butter-pats. 
He  was  a  prelate  of  the  finest  taste  —  a  scholar,  a 
collector,  a  dilettante.  He  spent  half  his  time  in 
Italy,  but  was  an  excellent  Irish  landlord.  He  kept 
several  mistresses,  and  he  travelled  in  a  coach  and  six. 
All  the  Churches  will  have  probably  come  to  an  end, 
before  any  one  of  them  has  another  ornament  like 
him.  In  the  garden  is  a  small  museum  which  he 
built  for  his  thefts  from  Pompeii;  and  my  own  treas- 
ures from  Asia  Minor  have  by  this  time  been  added 
to  the  collection.  When  you  've  finished  your  tea 
we  '11  see  how  my  man  has  arranged  them." 

The  open  window  admitted  them  to  a  balustraded 
terrace,  along  which,  in  a  row  of  tubs  orange-trees 
were  enjoying  the  summer.  The  air  which  fanned 
their  leaves  was  warm  and  smelt  of  flower-beds :  and 
the  waves  below,  beginning  to  turn  pink  in  the  sun- 


Without  and  Within  29 

set,  were  gently,  with  a  musical  murmur,  raking  the 
shingle  into  their  hollows. 

"  Do  you  see,"  said  Glanville,  "  on  the  slope,  on 
one  side  of  the  house,  the  building  whose  tower  has  a 
great  copper  ball  on  the  top  of  it?  Part  of  that 
building  is  the  museum;  the  other  part  is  the  Protes- 
tant church;  and  inside  the  ball  is  the  Episcopal 
heart  of  the  builder.  Most  of  my  servants  are 
Protestants,  and  there  is  service  in  the  church  occa- 
sionally. You  shall  worship  there  if  you  like,  on 
Sunday.  We  '11  content  ourselves  with  the  museum 
now." 

The  museum  was  reached.  The  door,  however, 
happened  to  be  locked;  so  the  friends  contented 
themselves  with  climbing  the  hill  behind  it,  and  in- 
specting the  remains  of  an  abbey,  with  an  almost 
perfect  chapel,  till  the  light  began  to  fail,  and  the 
clanging  of  a  bell  roused  them.  "  Hark,"  said  Glan- 
ville. "  That  means  we  must  dress.  By  this  time 
my  palate  is  getting  back  its  fastidiousness." 

Alistair  Seaton  whose  habitual  fare  was  simple, 
but  who  had  nevertheless  a  homely  fastidiousness  of 
his  own,  was  divided  at  dinner  between  wonder  at  the 
delicacy  of  his  friend's  repast,  and  the  reflection  that 
his  friend,  though  he  criticized  every  dish,  and  de- 
tected minute  faults  in  what  most  men  would  have 
thought  perfection,  could  breakfast  off  hard  bacon 
with  a  better  grace  than  himself. 

"  I  little  thought,"  he  said,  looking  up  from  a  pear, 
which  had  touched  his  tongue  with  its  flavor,  as 
though  it  were  melting  snow  —  "I  little  thought  at 
breakfast  that  we  should  be  ending  the  day  like  this, 


30  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

with  silver  plates  and  quails,  and  a  souffle  worthy  of 
Bignon's." 

There  was  in  his  voice  the  half-ironical  protest 
which  certain  natures,  by  no  means  indifferent  to 
comfort,  are  apt  to  make  against  anything  suggestive 
of  deliberate  luxury. 

"  My  dear  philosopher,"  said  Glanville,  "  if  cir- 
cumstances mortify  the  flesh  for  me,  I  cheat  the  in- 
fliction by  accepting  it  as  a  matter  of  course,  and 
forgetting  it:  but  to  mortify  the  flesh  unnecessarily 
is  but  to  irritate,  not  subdue  it.  I  think  that  by  this 
time  we  're  at  peace  with  our  nervous  systems.  If 
you  '11  have  no  more  port,  we  '11  go  outside  for  our 
coffee." 

Outside,  coffee  and  cigars  were  waiting  for  them. 
The  moon  was  slowly  rising.  The  orange  trees  were 
dimly  visible.  Neighboring  columns  and  cornices 
glimmered  like  dreams  of  Italy;  spires  of  Irish  yew 
had  a  semblance  of  distant  cypresses;  and  up  through 
the  balustrades  of  the  terraces  came  the  rustle  of  the 
Atlantic  sea. 

The  two  friends,  tired  out  with  their  journey,  lay 
back  in  cane  chairs,  whilst  the  air  stirred  just  suffi- 
ciently to  tell  them  of  its  warmth  and  softness ;  and 
their  minds  were  invaded  by  a  pleasing  sense  of  the 
contrast  between  the  exotic  refinements  amongst 
which  the  day  was  closing,  and  the  kingdoms  of  moor 
and  mountain  which  divided  them  from  their  lives  of 
yesterday. 

At  length,  after  a  long  silence,  Kupert  Glanville 
spoke. 

"  I  enjoy,"  he  said,  "  the  sense  of  rest  here  as  a 


Without  and  Within  31 

man  whose  head  is  aching  enjoys  the  experience  of 
laying  it  on  a  cool  pillow." 

"  Nobody  would  take  you,"  said  Seaton,  "  for  a 
man  whose  head  ached  with  anything.  I  've  always 
looked  on  you  as  the  type  of  natural  health  and  hap- 
piness —  fortunate  in  your  circumstances,  more  for- 
tunate still  in  your  temperament." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Glanville,  "  the  fairies  have  dealt 
well  with  me.  My  health  is  perfect,  my  spirits  are 
obstinately  buoyant.  But  nevertheless,  Alistair, 
ever  since  I  knew  you,  I  Ve  suffered  in  secret  from  a 
malady  that  never  leaves  me.  You  need  n't  start, 
and  put  on  that  look  of  annoyed  sympathy.  I  'm  not 
going  to  tell  you  I  've  a  cancer  under  my  waistcoat. 
The  malady  from  which  I  suffer  is  mental;  so  lean 
back  —  do  —  and  be  at  ease  again.  It 's  merely  the 
malady  of  the  age.  Our  young  lady  had  a  touch  of 
it  —  our  beautiful  young  lady  at  the  station.  She 
told  me  as  much,  while  I  was  brushing  your  crumbs 
off  her  table-cloth." 

"  And  what,"  asked  Seaton,  "  according  to  you, 
is  its  nature? " 

"  My  own  diagnosis  of  it,"  Glanville  replied,  "  is 
this.  The  only  life  which  can  reasonably  satisfy 
anybody,  is  made  of  two  parts  —  the  intellectual 
part,  and  the  part  which  we  vaguely  call  religious. 
When  the  mind  is  healthy  these  two  parts  are  in 
agreement,  and  support  each  other.  Now  they  are 
at  daggers  drawn.  Each  snatches  away,  or  con- 
taminates, the  food  that  the  other  feeds  on. 

"  I  never,"  began  Seaton,  "  I  never  thought  that 
you-" 

"  You    never    thought,"    interrupted    Glanville, 


32  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

"  that  in  me  there  was  much  religion  of  any  kind. 
Yes  —  yes  —  I  knew  that.  But  I  take  religion  in  a 
deeper  sense  than  you  do.  The  opposition  between 
religion  and  the  intellect  does  not  express  itself  only 
in  saying  that  a  God  exists,  and  in  saying  that  a  God 
does  not  —  in  wishing  to  say  prayers,  and  in  think- 
ing it  silly  to  say  them.  It  expresses  itself  also  in 
two  hostile  ejaculations  which  sum  up  for  the  sick 
mind  its  experiences  of  every  day  —  How  full  life 
is!  and  how  empty!  You  used  to  tell  me  at  Oxford, 
when  you  laughed  at  me  as  a  dilettante  sceptic,  that 
the  cure  for  doubt  is  action.  The  saying  is  Goethe's ; 
but  it 's  nonsense  all  the  same.  I  ?ve  been  since 
those  days  a  man  of  action  myself." 

"  You  have,"  said  Seaton,  raising  himself  in  his 
chair  abruptly.  "  I  doubt  if  you  realize  the  impor- 
tance of  the  part  you  played  —  of  the  help  which 
you  gave  your  country  in  its  days  of  struggle  and 
difficulty." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Glanville,  "  you  mean  during  the 
late  war.  But  even  during  that  time  of  struggle  my 
mind  was  constantly  whispering  a  something  which, 
now  the  struggle  is  over,  it  insists  on  saying  out  loud 
—  What  was  the  struggle  worth  ?  What  was  its 
object  ?  Nothing.  The  question  of  empires  — 
shall  this  one  grow  or  shall  that  one?  —  is  merely  a 
question  of  which  kind  of  scum  or  weed  shall  grow 
over  half  or  a  quarter  of  a  dirty  and  paltry  pond." 

"  I  doubt,"  said  Seaton,  "  if  you  laugh  at  things 
quite  as  completely  as  you  think  you  do.  On  your 
own  confession,  you  do  n't  laugh  at  the  protest  which 
part  of  your  nature  makes  against  the  philosophy  of 
the  other  part." 


Without  and  Within  33 

"  Precisely,"  said  Glanville.  "  That  V  the  heart 
of  the  whole  situation.  We  can  't  accept  this  phi- 
losophy; yet  our  intellect  is  unable  to  refute  it. 
Everybody  to-day  is  conscious  of  the  same  difficulty, 
clearly  or  vaguely.  Our  religious  and  our  irreligious 
thinkers  talk  about  little  else.  But  these  good  peo- 
ple all  do  the  same  thing.  They  shy  at  it  —  they 
jib  —  they  shirk  it.  They  none  of  them  have  the 
courage  to  meet  it.  The  religious  thinkers  shirk 
the  logic  of  denial.  The  irreligious  thinkers  shirk 
its  consequences.  My  own  wish  is  to  look  the  diffi- 
culty straight  in  the  face  —  to  peer  into  its  eyes, 
even  though  these  were  the  Gorgon's.  My  dear 
Alistair,  though  I  see  you  smile  in  the  darkness,  I 
longed  to  do  this,  through  all  my  years  of  office,  but 
I  could  n't  —  any  more  than  an  Archbishop  could 
scratch  his  leg  at  a  Convocation.  But  at  last  I  am 
my  own  man  again,  for  a  little  while  at  all  events; 
and  I  have  come  here  —  here  to  this  place  of  se- 
cluded leisure  —  and  I  have  seduced  you  also  into 
coming  with  me,  that  we  may  meet  the  enemy  un- 
daunted, and  see  what  we  can  manage  to  do  with 
him.  To-morrow  morning,  while  we  are  still  alone, 
we  can  have  a  preliminary  skirmish." 

"  Why  do  you  say  We  shall  be  still  alone?  "  asked 
Seaton. 

" Because,"  replied  Glanville  laughing  —  "I  did 
not  tell  you  before  —  if  I  had  you  would  n't  have 
come  here  —  because  to-morrow  evening,  and  next 
week,  I  'm  expecting  a  few  people." 

"What!  "  exclaimed  Seaton,  with  real  mortifica- 
tion in  his  voice.  "  You  're  going  to  have  people 
here  —  a  smart  party  from  London!     I  know  what 


34  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

your  people  will  be.  You  're  a  thoroughly  dishonest 
person.  You  ask  me  to  share  a  hovel  with  you,  and 
you  put  me  into  a  palace.  You  ask  me  to  share  your 
seclusion  with  you,  and  you  're  going  to  distract  me 
with  society.  When  these  people  of  yours  come, 
there  will  be  an  end  of  all  our  talk." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Glanville,  smiling  at  his 
friend's  discomfiture,  "  when  they  come,  there  will 
be  a  new  beginning  of  it.  And  now  to  compose  you, 
as  soon  as  you  go  to  bed,  will  you  let  me  give  you  a 
chapter  of  my  own  autobiography,  which  will  show 
you  how  the  malady  of  the  age  gradually  affected 
myself?  It  is  not  long,  and  is  eminently  unsenti- 
mental." 

Before  they  mounted  the  stairs,  through  the  whis- 
pering silence  of  the  house,  Kupert  Glanville  put 
into  his  friend's  hands,  together  with  a  candlestick, 
and  a  pair  of  old  silver  snuffers,  a  type-written  docu- 
ment consisting  of  a  few  pages. 


CHAPTEK    IV 

ALISTAIR  SEATON  woke  betimes  next  morn- 
ing, with  a  pleasant  sensation  of  oddly  com- 
pounded luxury.  Sunlight  was  flooding  the  room 
through  blinds  which  fluttered  softly,  and  showed  in 
wavering  shadows  the  bars  of  half-opened  windows. 
Above  him  was  the  domed  canopy  of  a  gilded  Italian 
bedstead.  His  body  lay  in  linen  which  smelt  of 
lavender,  and  along  with  the  sunlight,  came  from 
the  air  outside  a  plunging  murmur  of  waves,  and  the 
freshness  of  new-mown  grass.  He  lazily  looked 
round  him.  On  the  walls  were  pictures  of  Naples, 
painted  in  faded  water-colors.  Chests  of  drawers 
and  cabinets,  in  fine  Japanese  lacquer,  which  had 
swallowed  up  his  wardrobe  of  rough  Scotch  home- 
spun, blinked  at  him.  He  reflected  on  where  he  was 
—  in  what  a  singular  and  unexpected  retreat  —  once 
again  alone  with  his  old  friend,  from  whom  by  the 
chances  of  life  he  had  been  separated  for  some  years, 
and  who  was  now  one  of  the  most  fortunate  and  suc- 
cessful men  of  his  time.  His  spirits  rose,  and  filled 
him  with  a  sense  of  holiday.  Presently  moving  his 
hand,  he  felt  something  not  the  bed-clothes.  It  was 
the  leaves  of  his  friend's  manuscript,  which  he  had  till 
now  forgotten,  and  which,  the  night  before,  he  had 
been  too  sleepy  to  read.  He  took  it  up  and  found  it 
to  be  as  follows : 

"  An  Example  of  the  Effects  produced  on  Personal 

35 


36  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

Character  by  a  Gradual  Assimilation  of  our  Modern 
Knowledge  of  The  Universe/' 

"  In  examining  certain  phenomena  of  my  own  life, 
except  for  the  fact  that  I  have  an  internal  knowledge 
of  it,  I  hardly  recognize  that  life  as  my  own.  I  see 
it  as  some  external  process;  and  it  interests  me 
merely  as  an  example,  brought  directly  nnder  my 
own  vision,  of  the  nature  which  a  human  being  brings 
with  it  into  the  world,  and  of  the  changes  produced 
in  it,  on  the  one  hand  by  the  principles  of  its  own 
growth,  and  on  the  other  hand  by  a  peculiar  set  of 
definite  external  circumstances. 

"  The  external  circumstances  which  I  here  have  in 
view,  and  which  really  are  my  sole  concern  in  this 
short  and  bald  memorandum,  are  of  a  very  definite 
and  limited  kind  indeed.  They  are  purely  intellect- 
ual. They  consist  of  those  changes  in  our  know- 
ledge and  conception  of  the  Universe  (man  himself 
being  included  in  it)  which  are  daily  distinguishing 
more  and  more  clearly  modern  intellectual  condi- 
tions from  those  of  all  previous  ages.  I  shall  deal 
with  my  own  nature,  as  submitted  to  these  circum- 
stances and  affected  by  them,  just  as  I  might  deal 
with  some  species  of  potato,  or  Burgundian  vine, 
transplanted  into  a  new  climate,  or  treated  with  some 
new  manure. 

"For  this  purpose  I  must  say  something  of  my 
congenital  character,  in  order  to  show  that  I  began 
as  a  healthy  and  normal  specimen:  and  that  my  case 
is,  for  that  reason,  an  instructive  subject  of  obser- 
vation. 

"  My  disposition  in  childhood  was  happy,  and  ex- 
ceptionally active.     As  soon  as  I  could  spell  I  be- 


Without  and  Within 


37 


came  a  voracious  reader.  I  loved  my  pony  almost 
as  well  as  my  books,  though  not  perhaps  quite  as 
well,  because  he  had  less  variety:  and  I  dreamt  of 
the  glorious  day  when  I  should  first  kill  birds  with 
a  gun.  Furthermore,  though  by  no  means  what 
nurses  call  good,  by  instinct  I  was  strongly  religious. 
God  and  Christ  were  as  real  to  me  as  the  nursery 
windows,  and  I  said  my  prayers  as  beautifully  as  an 
infant  Samuel. 

"  What  followed  was  perfectly  normal.  I  made 
an  excellent  school-boy,  and  though  I  despised  mere 
games,  I  played  them  and  played  them  well,  so  that 
nobody  should  despise  me;  whilst  my  father  was 
known  to  be  so  rich  that  I  rendered  hard  work  re- 
spectable. When  the  pulses  of  manhood  began  to 
beat  in  the  boy's  veins,  matters  proceeded  still  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  happiest  precedents.  My  religious 
convictions  grew  deeper,  and  acquired  a  wider  scope, 
by  association  with  a  sense  of  the  poetry  and  romance 
of  life.  This  change  was  stimulated,  during  the  year 
of  my  first  tail  coat,  by  a  profound  but  unfortunate 
passion  for  a  dark-eyed  widow  of  forty,  which  drove 
me  into  waste  places  at  the  far  end  of  the  shrubbery, 
and  put  me  on  intimate  terms  with  the  stars,  the  sea, 
and  the  sunsets.  Other  developments  followed  in 
quick  succession.  Sublime  ambitions  of  all  kinds  be- 
gan to  form  themselves  in  my  mind.  I  burned  to  be 
supreme  as  a  poet,  a  soldier,  a  statesman,  and  once 
—  I  think  —  as  a  rider  of  steeple-chases:  and  in  each 
capacity  I  rewarded  myself  with  the  devotion  of 
some  ideal  woman,  and  endowed  myself  with  the  en- 
thusiasm of  a  knight  in  quest  of  the  Holy  Grail.  In 
every  direction  the  world  revealed  vistas  to  me  reach- 


38  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

ing  away  into  regions  full  of  sublime  possibilities,  and 
ending  in  a  world  beyond. 

"  Such  was  my  condition  at  the  time  of  my  going 
to  Oxford,  when  the  first  change  in  it,  of  which  I 
was  conscious,  began. 

"  A  new  conception  of  life,  based  upon  new  know- 
ledge, penetrates  into  different  minds  by  different 
channels  or  crevices,  just  as  the  waters  of  a  flood  will 
break  through  different  dams  in  courses  determined 
by  the  materials  of  which  the  dams  are  made.  In 
my  own  case  the  course  was  determined  by  the 
homely  fact  that,  like  most  children  of  my  own  class 
and  generation,  I  was  brought  up  as  a  member  of 
the  English  Church, —  or  rather,  of  that  Church 
within  a  Church,  the  moderate  High  Church  party; 
and  till  I  was  twenty  I  no  more  doubted  what  it 
taught  me,  with  regard  to  man's  origin  and  destiny, 
than  I  doubted  the  existence  of  the  sky.  Still,  even 
under  these  circumstances,  such  knowledge  and  in- 
tellect as  I  possessed,  had  already  made  themselves 
felt,  as  unrecognized  opponents  of  my  orthodoxy,  in 
the  form  of  an  instinctive  contempt  for  nearly  all 
the  controversial  arguments  which  I  heard  in  my 
devout  boyhood  enunciated  from  Anglican  pulpits. 
The  moral  appeals  of  the  preachers  used  often  to 
touch  me  deeply.  As  they  reasoned  of  righteous- 
ness, temperance,  and  judgment  to  come,  I  trembled : 
but  the  arguments  by  which  they  attempted  to  de- 
fend the  beliefs  which  I  shared  with  them  —  their 
allusions  to  Paley's  watch,  and  their  onslaughts  on 
the  shallow  infidel  —  merely  excited  my  laughter. 
Their  very  tones  when  they  spoke,  generally  struck 
me  as  ludicrous.     I  received  the  sacrament  of  the 


Without  and  Within  39 

altar  with  undiminished  awe  at  their  hands;  but  if  I 
had  been  in  search  of  a  serious  intellectual  guide,  I 
would  have  gone,  in  preference  to  them,  to  the  clown 
at  the  nearest  circus.  •  And  now  for  Oxford. 

"  The  new  influences  to  which  I  was  there  sub- 
mitted were  these.  Firstly  there  was  that  of  the 
Broad  Church  system  of  theology,  amongst  the  pro- 
fessors of  which  the  head  of  my  college  was  eminent. 
Secondly  there  was  that  of  the  current  philosophies 
of  history,  which  exhibited  Christianity  as  one  of 
many  religious  systems  all  equally  dependent  on 
some  complex  of  historical  circumstances;  whilst 
during  my  vacations  there  soon  began  to  be  a  third. 
This  was  the  influence  of  the  leaders  of  contemporary 
science,  whose  acquaintance  I  made  at  the  house  of 
one  of  my  uncles,  and  whose  views  and  convictions 
at  once  fascinated  and  repelled  me. 

"  The  following  were  the  most  important  conclu- 
sions which  were  now  offered  for  my  acceptance. 

"  In  the  chapel  of  my  college,  and  in  the  lecture- 
room  of  my  college  tutor,  I  learned  that  the  Bible 
was  a  volume  as  human  in  its  origin  as  the  Koran, 
that  Adam  was  a  myth,  that  Genesis  was  a  compila- 
tion of  legends,  and  that  the  Prophets  were  merely 
the  Emersons  and  Carlyles  of  their  day,  whilst  the 
Gospels  sank  to  the  level  of  imperfect  and  fragmen- 
tary memoirs,  abounding  in  errors  as  to  fact,  and  em- 
broidered with  pious  fancies,  the  most  important  of 
which  last  —  the  Virgin  birth,  and  the  Ascension  — 
were  due  not  to  the  Evangelists,  but  to  other  and 
later  writers,  who  differed  so  much  in  their  details 
as  to  render  their  evidence  valueless.  In  a  word 
the  religion  which  I  had  hitherto  without  hesitation, 


40  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

assumed  to  be  divinely  revealed,  and  true  in  every 
one  of  its  doctrines,  was  now  presented  to  me  as 
merely  a  great  historical  movement,  which  was 
gradually  giving  place  to  another,  and  transmitting 
to  it,  in  my  humble  opinion,  little  that  was  distinc- 
tive of  its  old  self  but  a  name. 

"  Meanwhile  the  scientific  thinkers  who  frequented 
my  Uncle's  house  made  me  familiar  with  another 
order  of  facts  which  the  divines  and  philosophers  of 
my  college,  with  bland  smiles,  and  little  twittering 
voices,  acknowledged  indeed  in  a  general  way,  but 
the  meaning  of  which  they  never  realized.     These 
facts  were  the  immensity  and  apparent  eternity  of 
the  Universe,  the  shortness  of  the  period  covered 
by  human  history  compared  with  the  ages  for  which 
man  has  existed,  and  the  length  of  this  last  when 
compared  with  the  few  thousand  years  to  which  the 
orthodox  Christian  story  of  the  Fall  and  the  Re- 
demption had  confined  it.     And  to  these  must  be 
added  another,  which  my  new  friends  declared  to  be 
indubitable  —  the  association  of  all  life  with  its  pre- 
cise organic  equivalents,  and  its  invariable  disturb- 
ance or  extinction  when  the  organism  is  dissolved  or 
injured.     From  these  facts,  as  I  was  not  slow  to  see, 
two  conclusions  followed;    and  the  men  of  science 
had  no  hesitation  in  drawing  them.     One  was  that 
God  —  if  sucli  a  name  were  permissible  —  was  mere- 
ly the  impersonal  sum  of  the  forces  and  uniformities 
of  the  Universe;   and  the  other  was  that  men,  no  less 
than  pigs  and  potatoes,  came  into  life  with  their 
bodies,  and  died  for  ever  with  the  death  of  them. 
According  to  our  men  of  science,  as  I  often  said  to 


Without  and  Within  41 

myself,  an  immortal  man  is  as  incredible  as  an  im- 
mortal turnip. 

"  These  teachings  both  of  Broad-Church  Christ- 
ianity and  Science,  struck  me  at  first  as  ridiculous, 
rather  than  as  shocking;  and  the  following  cause, 
for  the  moment,  prevented  their  having  much  effect 
on  me. 

"  In  the  Broad  Church  philosophers  and  the  men 
of  science  also,  I  discerned  certain  personal  absurdi- 
ties greater  even  than  those  which  had  scandalized 
me  so  long  ago  in  the  orthodox  instructors  of  my 
boyhood:  and  this  did  a  good  deal  to  discredit  the 
authority  of  both  of  them.  The  Broad  Church  di- 
vines continued  to  call  themselves  Christian  priests, 
to  administer  the  sacraments,  and  solemnly  to  recite 
the  creeds,  though  according  to  their  principles  there 
was  no  efficacy  in  the  one,  and  very  few  articles  that 
were  not  false  in  the  other.  In  the  same  way  the 
men  of  science,  though  denying  both  God  and  the 
soul,  professed  themselves  impassioned  supporters  of 
the  moral  code  of  Christ.  They  said,  with  Professor 
Huxley,  that  this  'was  surely  indisputable' ;  and  some- 
how contrived  to  unite  in  their  own  persons  the  prin- 
ciples of  the  Hell  Fire  Club  with  the  prejudices  of 
the  Methodist  pulpit.  Now  as  practical  teachers  of 
moral  and  religious  doctrines,  for  the  old-fashioned 
orthodox  clergy  I  had  had  nothing  but  reverence. 
I  had  laughed  at  them  as  reasoners  only.  The  Broad 
Churchmen  and  the  men  of  science  I  respected  as 
reasoners  and  discoverers:  but  as  religious  or  moral 
teachers  their  fatuity  seemed  so  much  more  fatuous 
than  anything  which  the  orthodox  clergy  had  ever 
given  me  to  smile  at,  that  I  only  knew  my  old  faith 


42  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

to  have  been  assailed,  from  the  fact  that  I  found 
myself  clinging  to  it  with  a  heightened  rather  than 
a  diminished  fervor.  Indeed  I  tightened  my  hold 
on  this  rock  for  a  reason  of  which  I  was  not  then  con- 
scious—  that  little  by  little  I  was  really  slipping 
away  from  it. 

"  Such,  indeed,  was  actually  my  condition.  In 
spite  of  the  tenacity  with  which  I  clung  to  what 
still  seemed  to  me  to  be  the  solid  common-sense  of  re- 
ligion, the  historical  and  scientific  facts  which  I 
was  utterly  unable  to  doubt,  and  the  principles  of 
free  criticism  which  I  was  utterly  unable  to  reject, 
became  every  day  of  the  week  more  and  more  fa- 
miliar to  me :  and  every  Sunday  the  orthodoxy  of  the 
High  Church  preachers  rang  in  my  ear  more  hollow 
and  more  perversely  futile.  They  might  as  well 
have  been  talking  about  Jupiter,  or  expounding  the 
Ptolemaic  astronomy.  When  I  had  been  at  Oxford 
for  about  a  year  and  a  half  the  Sunday  came  on 
which  I  knelt  for  the  last  time  at  their  altar.  I  felt 
that  the  faith  of  my  fathers  had  fallen  in  ruins  about 
me,  unroofed  and  dilapidated  by  the  pitiless  hands 
of  knowledge,  whose  action  I  deplored,  but  could 
neither  resent  nor  condemn. 

u  My  religious  conception  of  things,  however,  still 
remained  unshaken.  Only  my  belief  in  a  special  and 
supernatural  revelation  was  gone.  God  and  the  im- 
mortal soul  were  realities  for  me  as  much  as  they 
ever  were;  and  I  presently  found  consolation  in  a 
kind  of  mystical  theism,  of  which  orthodox  Christi- 
anity was  an  imperfect,  and,  by  this  time  an  out- 
worn, symbol. 

"  This  condition  of  mine,  while  it  lasted,  was  far 


Without  and  Within  43 

from  unsatisfactory.  It  gave  me,  indeed,  a  secret 
sense  of  pleasing  spiritual  superiority.  But  the  col- 
ors were  not  i  fast.'  Before  very  long  my  previous 
experience  repeated  itself;  and  while  I  thought  my- 
self secure  in  the  possession  of  my  new  creed,  it  was 
all  the  while  being  destroyed  by  a  series  of  sub-con- 
scious processes.  These  did  not  consist  in  the  ac- 
quisition of  any  new  ideas,  but  merely  in  the  mental 
digestion  of  what  I  had  taken  into  my  system  al- 
ready. The  first  of  the  ideas  which  thus  became 
part  of  myself,  was  the  idea  of  the  magnitude  of  the 
Universe,  and  the  littleness  and  the  evanescence  of 
man.  It  became  my  constant  companion  —  my 
familiar  demon.  The  seas  became  puddles;  the  con- 
tinents paltry  parishes;  the  houses  cardboard  toys; 
the  men  microscopic  dolls;  humanity  a  passing  rash 
on  the  surface  of  a  dissolving  pillule.  In  order  to 
attribute  any  serious  importance  to  the  destinies  of 
so  puny  a  race,  I  felt  that  it  was  necessary  to  credit 
the  human  existence  with  some  other  dimensions 
than  those  which  were  all  that  science  was  able  to 
perceive  in  it;  and  I  thus  began  to  feel  the  impor- 
tance of  religious,  or  trans-scientific  belief,  not  per- 
haps more  poignantly  than  I  had  ever  felt  it  before, 
but  in  a  totally  novel  and  much  more  comprehensive 
way.  I  felt  it  to  be  essential  not  to  religion  only, 
but  to  everything  in  life  that  was  beautiful,  great, 
or  stimulating.  I  felt  that  the  want  of  it  made  love, 
ambition  and  poetry,  as  meaningless  as  it  made 
prayer,  and  robbed  of  their  inmost  quality  not  the 
saint's  face  only,  but  the  scent  of  the  rose,  and  the 
blueness  of  the  summer  sea. 

"  But  just  as  the  heightened  vehemence  of  my 


44  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

late  adherence  to  orthodoxy  had  been  accompanied 
and  caused  by  a  sense  that  my  faith  was  slipping 
away  from  me,  so  was  this  enlarged  consciousness  of 
the  importance  of  religion  of  some  sort  —  of  its  great 
mundane  functions  —  accompanied  by  a  growing 
conviction  that  the  very  essence  of  all  religions  was  a 
dream  —  that  it  had  nothing  external  in  the  scheme 
of  things  to  correspond  to  it.  Day  by  day  I  began  to 
perceive  more  clearly  that,  in  spite  of  all  errors  and 
all  gaps  in  detail,  the  scientific  interpretation  of  the 
Universe  was  indubitably  true  as  a  whole,  that  it  was 
drawing  all  the  phenomena  —  living  or  lifeless  — 
of  existence,  into  its  single  net  of  steel :  and  the  mat- 
ter was  summed  up  for  me  in  two  overwhelming  con- 
clusions, which  were  only  attested  afresh  by  each 
fresh  attempt  to  discredit  them.  One  was  that  the 
origin  and  the  end  of  all  living  things  —  plants  and 
animals  —  is  the  same.  The  other  was  that  of  all, 
the  common  origin  is  the  cell;  and  the  common  end 
death.  These  two  conclusions  advanced  upon  me 
like  a  creeping  tide,  masking  its  rise  by  retreats,  but 
still  steadily  rising,  and  engulfing  my  faith,  now 
structureless,  as  though  it  were  a  castle  of  sand. 

"  When  I  first  realized  clearly  that  such  was  in- 
deed the  case,  I  experienced  no  feelings  of  pictur- 
esque and  sentimental  regret.  I  felt  like  a  man 
whose  fortune  was  in  Bank-notes,  and  who  woke  up 
one  morning  to  discover  that  they  all  were  forgeries. 
I  was  like  a  living  man  stupified  by  finding  himself 
in  a  city  of  the  dead;  and  I  passed  through  a  period, 
during  which,  had  I  listened  to  reason  only,  I  might 
actually  have  put  an  end  to  my  existence. 

"  I  was  withheld  from  this  course,  however,  by 


Without  and  Within  45 

something  stronger  than  reason.  This  something 
was  my  temperament.  Sanguine  and  elastic  as  it 
was,  though  it  did  not  in  any  way  arrest  the  destruc- 
tive operation  of  my  reason,  it  little  by  little  as- 
suaged the  pain  it  inflicted  on  me,  and  enabled  me 
to  laugh  again  in  a  blighted  and  disenchanted  world, 
as  Christopher  Sly  no  doubt  did,  when  he  sank  back 
into  a  tinker.  I  despised  life,  but  it  was  tolerable 
—  sometimes  pleasant  and  even  exciting;  and  it 
was  nearly  always  ridiculous. 

"  Suddenly,  when  I  was  in  this  condition,  I  became 
the  plaything  of  a  new  vicissitude.  I  found  myself 
taken  off  my  feet  by  a  genuine  passion  for  a  woman. 
Everything  that  love-poets  have  described  astonished 
me  by  taking  place  in  myself.  The  sense  that  an- 
other life,  with  a  pair  of  incomparable  eyes,  was  de- 
voting itself  to  me  in  a  passion  of  sacramental  con- 
stancy, made  me  feel  as  though  for  me  and  her  the 
heaven  of  heavens  was  opened.  The  entire  Uni- 
verse was  transfigured.  The  mystery  of  things  was 
restored  to  them:  and  when,  the  object  of  my  affec- 
tions, as  I  was  then  nothing  more  than  a  younger 
son,  transferred  her  own  to  the  heir  of  a  large  but 
encumbered  property,  my  renewed  religious  convic- 
tions became  yet  more  alive  and  active.  Nothing 
less  than  a  world  of  infinite  moral  issues  could  —  I 
felt  —  afford  room  for  a  tragedy  so  tremendous  as 
this  —  that  a  young  lady  who  had  been  pouring  into 
mine  the  whole  treasures  of  her  priceless  soul,  should 
actually  begin  to  lavish  the  very  same  treasures  upon 
a  brute  —  which  was,  at  that  time,  my  synonym  for 
any  man  who  was  not  myself.  The  difference  be- 
tween goodness  and  badness  seemed  more  appalling 


46  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

to  me  than  ever :  and  I  set  myself  to  write  a  book  in 
which,  accepting  this  difference  as  infinite,  I  endeav- 
ored to  show  that  the  only  possible  explanation  of  it 
was  to  be  found  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and 
its  debt  to  a  divine  creator.  I  thus  tried  to  effect  a 
reconversion  of  myself,  and  to  scourge  myself  back 
by  reason  into  the  beliefs  which  it  had  scourged  me 
out  of. 

"  The  success  of  my  attempt  did  not  equal  my  ex- 
pectations. The  reason  of  this  lay  in  the  instability 
of  my  major  premise,  or  the  fulcrum  of  my  argument- 
ative lever.  In  other  words  my  new  sense  of  the 
importance  of  life,  as  illustrated  by  the  infinite  wick- 
edness of  and  inconstancy  in  a  beautiful  woman, 
tended  to  give  way  under  the  argumentative  strain  I 
was  putting  on  it.  It  was  saved,  however,  from  total 
collapse  by  two  events,  which  relieved  the  strain  for 
a  time,  by  removing  my  hand  from  the  lever. 

"  These  were  the  deaths,  first  of  my  elder  brother, 
and  a  year  later  of  my  father.  I  was  thus  placed  in 
a  practically  new  position.  When  my  brother  died 
I  was  at  Rome,  attached  to  the  British  Embassy:  but 
political  events  at  home  had  begun  to  attract  my  at- 
tention and  I  willingly,  at  my  father's  suggestion, 
abandoned  diplomacy  for  Parliament.  I  succeeded 
beyond  my  hopes.  I  became  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons the  rising  young  man  of  the  day;  and  fashion- 
able mothers  who  had  known  me  all  my  life,  discov- 
ered in  me  charms  and  merits  which  were  new  both 
to  themselves  and  me :  whilst  the  Government  as  soon 
as  I  succeeded  to  my  father's  fortune,  became  as 
penetrating  in  their  discernment  of  my  talents,  as 
the  mothers  in  their  discernment   of  my  charms. 


Without  and  Within  47 

The  difficulties  of  my  party  for  many  years  at  home, 
and  then  for  some  years  abroad,  roused  me  to  efforts 
which  were  at  all  events  honest  and  unremitting;  and 
thus  brought  me  at  last  to  the  forefront  of  public 
life. 

"  Under  such  circumstances  the  latent  malady  of 
my  mind  gave  me  less  pain  than  before,  because  I 
had  less  time  to  attend  to  it.  But  practical  activity 
is  no  cure  for  mental  doubt.  At  best  it  is  a  tem- 
porary and  also  an  incomplete  anaesthetic.  My 
malady  still  remained  with  me:  and  in  the  midst  of 
my  absorbing  activities,  and  the  frequent  exhilara- 
tions of  success,  a  monitor  was  lurking  in  my  mind 
ever  ready  to  whisper  to  me  '  All  effort  is  vain. 
There  is  no  meaning  in  anything.'  As  time  went  on 
the  whisper  grew  daily  louder.  In  my  public  life 
I  felt  myself  an  actor  before  painted  canvas;  and 
behind  this  canvas  was  nothing  but  death  and  dark- 
ness. The  good  of  my  country  —  goodness  in  the 
character  of  the  individual  —  I  was  sensitive  still  to 
these,  but  this  sensitiveness  was  skin-deep  only.  My 
inward  self  appeared  to  have  lost  all  feeling,  as 
though  my  malady  was  ending  in  a  sort  of  mortifi- 
cation of  my  soul,  or  as  though  I  was  going  back  to 
the  protoplasm  out  of  which  my  race  had  emerged. 

"  My  worst  symptom  was  that  this  state  of  things 
had  ceased  to  shock  me:  but  it  caused  me  neverthe- 
less a  constant  dull  uneasiness;  and  bye  and  bye,  in 
my  leisure  moments,  when  I  was  alone,  I  was  driven 
back  again  to  the  sources  in  which  my  malady  origi- 
nated— the  study  of  life  and  the  Universe,  as  science 
has  laid  them  bare  for  us.  And  then  gradually  a 
new  thought  possessed  me.     This  was  not  the  little- 


48  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

ness  of  man's  life,  but  the  necessity  of  all  its  pro- 
cesses. Not  only  was  his  personal  existence  pres- 
ently swallowed  up  in  the  flux  of  things,  but  his  will 
was  swallowed  up  in  their  uniformity.  Of  the  trin- 
ity of  denials  —  There  is  no  God,  there  is  no  soul, 
there  is  no  will  —  it  seemed  to  me  now  that  the  third 
person  was  revealed  to  me  —  an  unholy  spirit  that 
made  my  body  its  temple. 

"  This  thought  made  every  moment  a  moral  death, 
without  their  being  any  need  for  me  to  anticipate  the 
final  moment  of  dissolution.  Could  this  view  of  ex- 
istence which  was  thus  forced  on  me,  be  true?  Were 
the  thoughts,  the  feelings,  the  aspirations,  the  seem- 
ing efforts  of  man,  nothing  but  the  passive  dance  of 
motes  in  a  passing  sunbeam?  From  this  blighting 
conclusion  was  there  no  way  of  escape  ?  In  the  pres- 
ence of  such  a  question,  the  squabbles  of  nations, 
the  re-drainage  of  towns,  the  claims  of  Ireland  to  a 
parliamentary  bear-garden  of  its  own,  proposals  to 
teach  the  brats  in  the  London  slums  the  languages 
used  by  the  brats  in  the  slums  of  Berlin  and  Paris  — 
began  to  irritate  me  like  the  buzzings  and  the  bites 
of  flies:  and  I  determined  that  I  would,  as  soon  as  an 
opportunity  offered,  retire  from  public  life,  not  al- 
together, but  for  a  time,  in  order  that  I  might  try 
once  more  to  balance  my  account  with  realities. 

"  I  seem  as  I  write  this  to  see  the  solemn  faces,  and 
hear  the  solemn  words,  with  which  if  they  cared  to 
read  it,  many  saintly  and  spiritual  persons  would  re- 
prove me,  castigate  me,  and  endeavor  to  put  me  into 
the  right  way.  They  would  speak  to  me  of  the 
beauty  of  holiness,  of  the  illuminating  love  of  Christ, 
and  would   probably   hint,    as  in   such   cases   they 


Without  and  Within  49 

severally  do,  that  my  difficulties  were  mainly  due  to 
the  love  of  self,  or  to  what  they  call  passion  or  con- 
cupiscence. How  utterly  these  people  miss  the  na- 
ture of  the  problem  they  are  dealing  with !  It  is  no 
doubt  that  if  a  man  wishes  to  break  some  Christian 
precept,  he  will  naturally  incline  to  lend  a  friendly 
ear  to  any  arguments  which  may  discredit  the  Christ- 
ian idea  of  virtue.  But  I  have  no  wish  to  break 
any  such  precept  myself,  which  I  would  not  gladly 
sacrifice  if  only  I  could  be  shown  how  the  precept 
belonged  to  a  system  which  it  was  possible  for  me  to 
believe  seriously.  To  suit  inept  persons,  my  one 
answer  would  be  this:  The  beauty  of  goodness,  as 
you  yourselves  perceive  it,  and  the  poignancy  of  the 
appeal  made  by  it  to  a  portion  of  man's  nature,  I 
acknowledge  as  fully  as  you,  my  good  men,  your- 
selves do.  But  the  value  which  you  attach  to  this 
appeal  and  this  beauty,  is  not  a  matter  of  personal 
feeling  only.  As  you  yourselves  insist,  it  implies 
certain  definite  beliefs  with  regard  to  objective  facts, 
such  as  the  free,  the  spiritual,  and  the  undying  na- 
ture of  man,  and  the  personal  goodness  of  the  su- 
preme power  of  the  Universe,  man  being  the  unique 
object  of  it.  If,  for  any  reason,  we  cannot  assent  to 
these  beliefs,  the  personal  feeling  in  question  sinks 
to  a  sublime  delusion,  which  will  have  to  be  dis- 
missed as  such :  and  what  I  demand  of  you,  and  what 
the  world  demands  also,  is  that  these  beliefs  should 
be  harmonized  with  beliefs  of  another  kind  —  beliefs 
which  have  to  do  with  objective  facts  also  —  beliefs 
which  our  study  of  the  Universe  is  forcing  on  all 
civilized  nations  —  beliefs  as  to  facts  which  only  the 
mad  can  doubt,  and  which  only  the  dishonest  can  dis- 


50  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

regard.  We  demand  of  you  that  you  should  har- 
monize your  conceptions  of  the  all-wise,  all-loving 
God,  who  is  consumed  by  a  desire  for  the  salvation 
of  the  lowliest  human  soul,  with  the  spectacle  which 
now  confronts  us  of  the  apathetic  process  of  nature. 
If,  as  you  are  accustomed  to  say  in  your  pulpits  and 
elsewhere,  only  selfishness  and  concupiscence  make 
it  difficult  for  us  intellectually  to  reconcile  these  two 
orders  of  facts,  this  perhaps  may  explain  my  own 
inability  to  reconcile  them  —  a  poor  mundane  sinner 
like  me;  but  it  cannot  explain  any  similar  inability 
in  yourselves.  If  the  reconciliation  is  possible,  come 
down  from  your  pulpits  and  give  it  to  us.  But  if 
you  cannot,  do  not  make  yourselves  ludicrous  by  tell- 
ing other  men  that  all  intellectual  difficulties  in  the 
way  of  a  belief  in  the  Fall,  in  the  reality  of  God's 
covenant  with  Abraham,  in  the  struggle  for  existence 
as  a  symbol  of  God's  universal  affection,  or  in  the 
earthquake  of  Lisbon  as  an  example  of  His  exquis- 
itely discriminating  justice,  are  due  to  the  fact  that 
this  man  does  n't  love  his  neighbor  enough,  or  that 
that  man  is  determined  to  love  his  neighbor's  wife 
too  much.  My  dear,  good  saints  —  my  modern  men 
of  religion  —  do  n't  be  offended  with  me.  I  am  not 
fighting  against  you.  My  wish  is  to  do  something 
for  you  which  you  can  't  do  for  yourselves.  So  far 
as  you  are  concerned,  the  Delphic  Temple  is  roofless, 
the  oracle  is  dumb,  the  prophetic  laurel  flowers  not, 
and  the  talking  water  has  ceased. 

"Poor  dumb  oracles  —  could  you  only  do  what 
we  ask  of  you  you  would  be  giving  us  back  again  not 
religion  only,  but  life." 


BOOK  II 

Theologians  in  Disguise 


CHAPTER   I 

THE  only  son  of  a  well-connected  writer  to  the 
Signet,  Alistair  Seaton  had  been  left  early 
in  life  to  the  care  of  a  widowed  mother  —  a  model 
of  Presbyterian  goodness.  This  excellent  lady  had 
kept  her  treasure  at  home  in  her  comfortable  house 
in  Edinburgh,  where  he  was  educated  first  by  tutors, 
who  were  preparing  for  the  ministry  of  the  Kirk, 
and  then  by  an  ex-professor  of  transcendental  meta- 
physics, from  Glasgow,  whose  health  had  broken 
down  under  the  strain  of  contemplating  existence  as 
a  modification,  by  his  own  mind,  of  the  Absolute. 
The  solumn  demeanor  of  this  shaggy  and  devout 
sage,  his  manner  of  saying  "  Good  morning "  as 
though  it  were  part  of  the  Shorter  Catechism,  his 
woollen  gloves,  and  the  strength  of  his  Scotch  accent, 
seemed  to  Mrs.  Seaton  proofs  of  his  old-fashioned 
Christian  orthodoxy.  She  little  dreamed  that  his 
pupil,  whose  singing  of  the  New  Paraphrase  made 
him  seem  as  close  to  her  heart  as  Augustine  was  to 
Monica's,  was  preparing  to  edify  the  dons  in  his  earli- 
est college  essay  by  telling  them  that  the  Christian 
Trinity  was  merely  a  crude  expression  of  the  com- 

5i 


52  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

fortable  truth  that  The  Father  is  pure  unconditioned 
Abstraction;  that  the  so-called  Son  is  Abstraction 
made  real  by  self -negation ;  and  that  the  so-called 
Spirit  is  Negation  again  negatived,  which  manages 
thus  to  make  itself  the  perfect  Sum-total  of  Exist- 
ence. 

But  the  young  undergraduate,  who  for  a  time  was 
bursting  with  these  sublime  secrets,  gradually  grew 
tired  of  keeping  his  thoughts  tortured  into  the  one 
attitude  which  enabled  him  to  receive  their  consola- 
tion :  and  he  presently  forgot  the  Absolute  in  an  en- 
thusiasm for  religious  Art,  which  he  found  to  be  a 
better  language  for  the  unextinguished  piety  of  his 
nature.  Though  he  never  now  said  anything  which 
his  mother  would  have  recognized  as  a  prayer,  his 
bed-room  was  hung  with  pictures  of  Saviours  and 
adoring  saints:  and  each  morning,  as  he  shaved,  he 
looked  at  them  with  eyes  full  of  mystical  aspirations. 
Subsequently,  on  the  death  of  a  cousin,  to  whom  he 
was  engaged  to  be  married,  and  to  whose  memory 
he  was  inevitably  constant,  he  retired  with  his  mother 
to  a  cottage  in  North  Wales,  where  he  taught  the 
principles  of  Art  and  the  practice  of  carving  to  the 
villagers  and  joined  in  his  mother's  devotions  with  so 
much  filial  sympathy  that  he  sometimes  could  hardly 
tell  how  his  own  creed  differed  from  hers. 

His  friend's  document,  therefore,  with  its  dry  and 
methodical  references  to  modes  of  thought  and  as- 
pects of  things  which  he  had  himself  disregarded, 
and  its  traces  of  levity  in  certain  of  its  most  serious 
passages,  left  him,  when  he  had  done  reading  it,  in  a 
condition  of  surprise,  rather  than  of  clear  compre- 
hension.    He  looked  round  him  again  at  the  bed- 


Theologians  in  Disguise  53 

room,  and  the  gilded  bed-posts;  and  constrasting  his 
friend's  description  of  his  dissatisfaction  with  life 
with  the  delicate  appreciation  shown  by  him  of  all 
the  arts  of  living,  he  was  tempted  to  ask  himself  once 
more  whether,  with  a  man  like  Glanville,  such  specu- 
lative dissatisfaction  was  really  more  than  a  play- 
thing. These  reflections  were  interrupted,  and  at 
the  same  time  seemed  to  be  justified,  by  the  sound  of 
his  own  name  rising  to  him  through  an  open  window, 
and  by  Glanville's  voice  below,  calling  to  him  to 
come  down  and  bathe. 

Seaton,  who  was  a  fine  swimmer,  leaped  at  once 
from  his  bed;  and  he  and  Glanville,  not  many  min- 
utes later,  were  hurrying  through  the  gardens  to  the 
bathing  place,  which  proved  to  be  a  romantic  cavern, 
full  of  the  morning  lights  and  sobbings  of  the  salt 
and  glaucous  water.  They  returned  to  their  clothes 
glowing  with  health  and  exercise;  and  as  they  made 
their  way  back  to  the  house  over  rocks  from  which 
the  waves  had  retreated,  Seaton  observed,  with  an 
almost  boyish  interest,  one  of  its  architectural  fea- 
tures, whose  existence  he  had  not  suspected.  He 
saw  that  the  terrace,  on  which  the  windows  of  the 
living-rooms  opened,  and  whose  line  of  balustrades 
and  orange-trees  had  a  length  of  some  thousand  feet, 
was  really  the  roof  of  a  pillared  and  arcaded  build- 
ing, whose  base  was  but  little  above  the  level  of  high 
tide.  Glanville  explained  to  him  that  this  imposing 
structure  was  an  orangery  designed  by  the  Bishop  as 
a  place  for  exercise  in  wet  weather.  "  I,"  he  con- 
tinued, "have  put  it  to  a  different  purpose,  which 
perhaps  would  have  scandalized  even  the  scandalous 
prelate  himself.     I  '11  show  you  its  secrets  at  a  more 


54  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

convenient  season.  And  now  for  breakfast.  It  will 
be  ready  as  soon  as  you  are." 

The  freshness  of  their  appetite  and  the  excellence 
of  the  meal  that  was  awaiting  them,  sustained  and 
even  heightened  the  spirits  of  the  two  friends:  and 
as  Glanville's  conversation  wandered  from  topic  to 
topic,  touching  on  his  excavations  in  the  east,  now  on 
his  travels  in  Europe,  Seaton  felt  as  if  he  too,  who 
had  chosen  quiet  as  his  portion,  was  enjoying  the 
thrill  of  action,  change,  and  experience. 

"  The  worst  of  it  is,"  said  Glanville,  when  bye  and 
bye  in  the  library  they  sank  into  two  arm-chairs, 
with  a  box  of  cigars  between  them,  "  we  can  't  be  in 
two  moods  and  in  two  places  at  once.  To  explore 
one  ruined  city  you  must  forego  the  sight  of  a  hun- 
dred; and  the  more  you  appreciate  the  pleasure  of 
being  desperately  in  love  with  one  woman,  the  more 
you  resent  the  impossibility  of  being  equally  in  love 
with  a  dozen." 

u  How  like  you  are,"  exclaimed  Seaton,  "  to  the 
you  I  have  always  known,  and  how  unlike  something 
else,  whose  acquaintance  I  made  this  morning!  I 
mean  the  disillusioned  You  you  have  exhibited  in 
your  own  analysis." 

"  And  so,"  said  Glanville  laughing,  "  you  do  n't 
think  the  portrait's  like  me." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Seaton,  "  not  a  portrait  at 
all.  Nearly  everything  that  is  peculiar  to  yourself 
—  yourself,  as  I  see  you  there  smoking  and  talking, 
is  left  out  of  it." 

"  You  have  paid  my  memorandum,"  said  Glan- 
ville, "  the  highest  of  possible  compliments.  To 
leave  out  everything  peculiar  to  myself  was  my  aim, 


Theologians  in  Disguise  55 

and  merely  to  give  what  was  typical  of  the  course  of 
a  certain  disease  from  which  I  happened  to  be  suf- 
fering in  common  with  most  of  my  contemporaries. 
If  you  wished  to  describe  influenza  from  your  own 
experience  of  it,  you  would  n't  interlard  your  ac- 
count with  your  private  views  about  Hegel." 

"  Well,"  replied  Seaton,  "  what  you  say  makes  it 
easier  for  me  to  discuss  your  paper.  If  you  wish  me 
to  take  it  as  illustrating  general  facts  and  tendencies, 
I  personally  should  venture  to  find  two  faults  with 
it.     May  I  tell  you  what  they  are?  " 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Glanville.  "  It 's  the  very 
thing  that  I  want  you  to  do." 

"  I  differ  from  you,"  said  Seaton,  "  in  the  first 
place,  as  to  your  view  that  the  world  generally  has 
become,  or  is  even  tending  to  become,  less  religious 
than  it  used  to  be.  I  should  say,  on  the  contrary 
that,  amongst  average  men  and  women,  the  vital 
spirit  of  religion  is  more  active  now  than  it  ever  was 
—  partly  for  the  very  reason  that  it  is  bursting  out 
of  the  old  bottles.  If,  when  you  speak  of  the  effects 
of  modern  knowledge,  you  merely  mean  that  a  wider 
knowledge  of  history  is  extending  the  perception 
that  the  old  orthodox  creeds  are  merely  symbols  — 
the  solar  myths  of  the  conscience  —  I  should  agree 
with  you.  All  the  social  movements  of  the  modern 
world  are  religious.  They  spring  from  a  sense  of 
the  spiritual  dignity  of  man  —  of  the  equal  relation 
of  all  men  to  a  Mind  that  is  beyond  them  all." 

"  My  own  impression,  then,"  said  Glanville, 
"which  is  certainly  shared  by  many,  that  modern 
scientific  knowledge  is  drying  up  faith  at  its  sources, 
seems  to  you  an  hallucination." 


56  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

"  I  confess,"  said  Seaton,  "  it  seems  to  me  a 
groundless  alarm.  You  are  frightened,  it  seems  to 
me,  by  a  wind-mill  which  you  take  for  a  giant.  I 
can  best  show  you  what  I  mean  by  telling  you  quite 
candidly  the  second  fault  which  I  find  with  your 
whole  position.  You  talk  of  our  modern  scientific 
knowledge  of  the  Universe.  Most  of  it,  very  likely, 
is  new  and  true  and  useful.  But  it  all  seems  to  me,  on 
account  of  its  very  nature,  to  be  so  far  less  important 
than  it  evidently  seems  to  you.  You  speak  of  it  as 
something  which  stands  on  some  new  basis  of  its 
own,  distinct  from  all  other  and  deeper  knowledge, 
and  opposed  to  it." 

"  I  should  say  rather,"  replied  Glanville,  "  that  in- 
stead of  opposing  all  other  knowledge,  it  absorbs  it, 
as  a  snake  swallows  a  rabbit,  and  makes  it,  by  digest- 
ing it,  part  of  a  different  body." 

"  Here,"  said  Seaton,  "  we  come  to  the  root  of  our 
difference.  I  say  it 's  nothing  of  the  kind.  What 
are  the  hollow  facts  of  mere  physical  science  when 
interpreted  by  chemists  and  naturalists,  who  do  n't 
know  the  rudiments  of  philosophy?  You,  my  dear 
Rupert,  and  those  who  share  your  fears,  seem  to  for- 
get that  the  objects  which  physical  science  studies  — 
stars,  stomachs,  grey  brain-pulp,  or  steam-engines  — 
would  for  us  be  nothing  if  the  mind  did  not  perceive 
them.  They  are  understandable  only  because  an 
antecedent  mind  understands  them." 

"  And  what  conclusions,"  said  Glanville,  "  do  you 
draw  from  this  simple  proposition?  " 

"  That  we  must  interpret  the  Universe  through  the 
mind,"  replied  Glanville,  "  not  the  mind  through  the 
Universe :  and  the  Universe,  if  we  treat  it  in  this  way, 


Theologians  in  Disguise  57 

will  no  longer  be  a  bugbear  to  us.  Science  may  cut 
up  a  brain.  It  may  measure  the  distance  of  a  star: 
but  it  stops  dead  before  a  living  human  thought." 

For  a  moment  Glanville  was  silent.  Then  he  got 
up  impatiently,  and  began  pacing  the  room.  Finally, 
with  his  back  against  the  chimney-piece,  he  looked 
down  at  his  friend,  and  addressed  him. 

"  Alistair,"  he  said,  "  I  should  like  to  throw  all 
Hegel's  books  at  your  head.  You  are  talking  as 
though  you  were  not  only  Hegel's  disciple,  but  his 
contemporary  —  as  though  since  his  death  no  one 
had  learned  anything.  Sit  quiet,  and  I  '11  show  you 
how.  Be  patient  with  me  for  five  minutes.  Of 
science  in  Hegel's  day,  what  you  say  may  be  true 
enough.  Science  then,  we  may  admit,  stopped 
short  at  the  living  mind.  But  thanks  to  God  or  the 
Devil,  we  have  travelled  far  since  then.  Science  be- 
gan —  as  any  board-school  teacher  knows  —  with  a 
study  of  the  stars,  and  the  physics  of  the  inorganic 
world.  There  seemed  to  be  little  connection  be- 
tween our  sacred  minds  and  these.  Then  it  went  on 
to  the  organisms  of  plants  and  animals,  venturing, 
with  many  elaborate  apologies  to  the  Deity,  to  in- 
clude amongst  these  last  the  vile  body  of  man. 
Throughout  all  these  organisms,  in  exact  proportion 
as  it  studied  them,  it  discovered  a  growing  amount 
of  likeness,  and  of  mechanical  and  machine-like  uni- 
formity. But  still,  till  a  long  time  after  Hegel's 
death,  these  groups  of  machine-like  processes,  these 
separate  living  species,  seemed  radically  separated 
from  one  another,  and  connected  only  as  contrivances 
of  the  same  Deity.  Then  the  different  kinds  of  life 
—  in  especial  the  life  of  man  —  seemed  to  stand  up 


58  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

alone  above  the  waters  of  science,  like  island  peaks 
above  the  sea,  the  objects  of  a  separate  knowledge. 
But  all  this  while  the  waters  of  science  were  rising 
slowly  like  a  flood,  and  were  signalizing  their  rise  by 
engulfing  from  time  to  time  some  stake  or  landmark 
that  a  moment  before  was  protruding  from  them,  or 
by  suddenly  pouring  over  a  barrier  and  submerging 
some  new  era.  No  doubt  even  by  this  quiet  pro- 
gress many  people  were  frightened ;  but  there  was  no 
more  general  panic  than  there  was  in  the  days  of 
Noah.  Men,  from  their  superior  station,  watched 
the  tide  in  security.  They  ate  and  drank  at  their 
old  sacramental  altars.  They  were  married  before 
them,  and  given  in  marriage.  But  one  fine  day  — 
as  we  look  back  on  it,  it  seems  the  work  of  a  mo- 
ment —  something  happened  which,  as  I  often  amuse 
myself  by  thinking,  would  have  been  for  a  trans- 
human  spectator  the  finest  stage-effect  in  the  world. 
The  gradual  rise  of  the  waters  gave  place  to  a  cata- 
clysm. The  fountains  of  the  great  deep  were  broken 
up  when  Darwin  struck  the  rock;  and  an  enormous 
wave  washed  over  the  body  of  man,  covering  him  up 
to  his  chin,  leaving  only  his  head  visible,  whilst  his 
limbs  jostled  below  with  the  carcasses  of  the  drowned 
animals.  His  head,  however,  was  visible  still,  and 
in  his  head  was  his  mind  —  that  mind  antecedent  to 
the  Universe  —  that  redoubtable  separate  entity  — 
staring  out  of  his  eyes  on  the  deluge  like  a  sailor  on 
a  sinking  ship.  And  then  came  one  crisis  more. 
The  waters  rose  an  inch  or  two  higher;  and  all  at 
once,  like  a  sponge,  the  substance  of  his  head  itself 
had  begun  to  suck  them  up  —  suck  them  up  into  the 
very  home  of  life  and  thought;    and  the  mind,  sod- 


Theologians  in  Disguise  59 

den  all  through,  was  presently  below  the  surface, 
sharing  the  doom  of  limpets  and  weeds  and  worlds. 
Or  sometimes,"  continued  Glanville,  "  what  has  hap- 
pened presents  itself  to  me  in  this  way  —  Did  you 
ever  read  Southey's  Indian  poem,  The  Curse  of 
Kehan  f  And  do  you  remember  how  the  con- 
quering Kajah,  who  has  almost  made  himself  a  God, 
sees  when  he  enters  Hell,  so  that  Hell  too  may  ac- 
knowledge his  majesty,  a  vacant  place  eminent 
amongst  the  places  of  the  damned  —  how  at  last  he 
becomes  aware  that  this  place  is  destined  for  him- 
self; and  how  his  brethren  in  perdition  break  out 
in  chorus,  and  call  on  him  to  join  their  number?  In 
the  temple  or  the  Hell  of  Science  to  which  the  things 
of  life  and  nature  have  one  after  one  been  brought, 
and  where  they  have  been  bound  in  the  fetters  of 
the  same  mechanical  necessity,  I  have  often  pictured 
to  myself  an  eminent  seat  vacant,  waiting  in  vain 
through  the  ages  for  some  supreme  and  delaying  oc- 
cupant; and  at  last  into  the  place  of  torment  stalks 
man  with  his  dreams  and  his  aspirations.  This  seat 
is  for  him,  and  Hell  beholds  him  take  it,  whilst  the 
forms  and  the  forces  round  him  call,  as  in  Southey's 
poem  —  '  Come,  come,  Kehama,  come  —  too  long 
we  wait  for  thee.' 

"  There,"  said  Glanville,  abrubtly  changing  his 
tone,  "  you  thought  I  was  going  to  bless  modern 
knowledge,  and  you  see  I  've  ended  by  cursing  it. 
At  least  I  've  shown  you  what  it  is.  The  old  know- 
ledge said,  '  You  must  understand  the  Universe 
through  the  individual  mind.'  The  new  says  you 
must  understand  the  individual  mind  through  the 
Universe,    out   of  whose   common  substance   it  is 


60  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

formed,  and  into  whose  common  substance  it  goes 
back.  It  would  have  been  perfectly  possible  in  the 
days  of  Hegel,  to  dismiss  the  idea  that  this  was  so,  by 
every  kind  of  intellectual  argument.  Now,  by  in- 
tellectual argument,  it  is  impossible  to  cast  a  doubt 
on  it." 

"  My  dear  Bupert,"  exclaimed  Seaton,  "  you  are  a 
veritable  Saul  amongst  the  prophets.  But  all  you 
have  said  just  now  I  could  put  for  you  into  Hegel's 
language;  and  you  'd  see  that  there  's  as  fine  a  re- 
ligion in  it  as  any  you  believe  yourself  to  have  lost." 

"  Well,"  said  Glanville,  "  you  shall  have  your  re- 
venge bye  and  bye.  You  shall,  if  you  like,  preach 
your  gospel  to  our  friends  this  evening,  and  save  a 
whole  dinner-party  instead  of  a  single  soul." 

"  Eupert,"  said  Seaton  solemnly,  "  damn  your 
friends." 

"Does  that  benediction,"  asked  Glanville,  "sum 
up  what  you  wish  your  gospel  to  do  for  them?  " 

"  It  means,"  replied  Seaton,  "  that  as  I  told 
you  last  night  they  '11  interrupt  all  our  talks. 
What  do  your  friends  —  those  ordinary  people  of 
the  world  —  care  for  the  things  that  you  and  I  have 
been  discussing? " 

"  In  other  words,"  said  Glanville,  "  what  do  they 
care  about  religion?  Why  my  dear  Alistair,  you 
told  me  yourself  just  now  that  everybody  cared  about 
religion,  with  the  exception  of  a  small  minority. 
Why  do  you  suppose  that  my  friends  belong  all  of 
them  to  that  depraved  body?  On  the  contrary, 
you  '11  discover  that  really  they  are  so  many  theolo- 
gians in  disguise  —  although  in  the  case  of  some  of 
them  I  admit  that  the  disguise  is  very  good.     How- 


Theologians  in  Disguise  61 

ever,  you  '11  be  able  to  test  what  I  say  for  yourself 
before  many  hours  are  over:  and  so,  meanwhile,  let 
us  get  off  our  high  horse.  I  have  a  proposal  to  make 
to  you.  I  think  you  're  a  good  sailor.  That  stom- 
ach of  yours,  which  is  only  real  as  related  to  your 
antecedent  mind,  would  n't  annoy  your  mind  by  mis- 
behaving itself  on  a  steam  launch?  " 

u  Certainly  not,"  replied  Seaton.  "  I  was  never 
sea-sick  in  my  life." 

"Then  we'll  have  the  launch,"  said  Glanville; 
"  we  '11  take  our  luncheon  with  us,  and  we  '11  go  to 
Ballyfergus,  the  odd  little  watering-place  which  I 
mentioned  to  you.  Eeligion  will  be  rampant  there 
in  the  persons  of  the  orthodox  clergy,  and  I  want  to 
present  you,  and  also  to  present  myself,  to  a  very  im- 
portant person  there  who  is  certainly  not  a  clergy- 
man." 


CHAPTEK   H 

THE  weather  remained  beautiful;  and  the  two 
friends  on  the  launch,  as  they  watched  the 
lights  which  rose  and  fell  like  buoys  on  the  glossy 
waters,  let  the  webs  of  their  late  discussion  be  blown 
from  them  on  the  summer  air.  Only  once,  and  for  a 
few  moments  only,  did  their  conversation,  by  acci- 
dent, flow  back  into  its  former  channel. 

"  Why  is  it,"  said  Glanville,  whose  eyes  had  been 
fixed  on  the  sea,  watching  the  flight  of  the  wheeling 
and  dipping  sea-gulls,  "  that  the  beauty  of  nature  — 
even  the  movements  of  those  birds  which  are  going 
as  Hermes  did,  when  he  went  to  Calypso's  island, 
and  felt  the  spray  on  his  shoulders  —  why  is  it  that 
these  things  rouse  in  us,  as  they  do,  irrational  long- 
ings for  something,  which  we  not  only  cannot  seize, 
but  cannot  even  define  or  imagine  —  something,  my 
dear  Alistair,  which  we  seek  alike  in  love,  adventure, 
and  music,  which  tantalizes  us  in  flowers,  in  the 
swaying  shadows  of  cypresses,  in  musk,  in  incense, 
and  the  track  of  the  marine  moon-light,  but  which 
never  gives  itself  to  our  arms,  or  fastens  its  lips  to 
ours?  Is  it  merely  the  longing,  do  you  think,  of  our 
own  physical  organisms  to  return  to  the  earth  from 
which  they  were  taken?  " 

"  You  have  almost,"  said  Seaton,  "  answered  your 
own  question  yourself:  and  almost  in  the  way  which 
I  was  just  now  trying  to  suggest  to  you.     This  sense 

62 


Theologians  in  Disguise  63 

of  the  human  appeal  and  the  poetical  suggestions  of 
nature  —  this  longing  for  the  sea,  and  yet  not  for 
the  sea  —  for  the  mountains  and  yet  not  for  the 
mountains,  is  merely  an  illustration  of  the  fact  that 
the  Universe  is,  as  Hegel  said,  and  as  I  say,  a  thought 
of  God,  and  that  our  own  minds  long  for  that  rest 
in  the  perfection  of  the  divine  mind,  which  the 
ecstasy  of  the  saint  gives  him  for  an  illuminated  mo- 
ment, and  which  philosophy  gives  to  the  philosopher 
less  completely,  but  for  a  life-time." 

"A  delightful  creed,"  said  Glanville,  "though  a 
touch  will  tear  it  to  pieces.  My  fashionable  friends 
will  be  charmed  to  have  the  whole  matter  out  with 
you;  though  if  you  put  it  like  that  to  them,  they 
might  not  know  what  you  meant.  Meanwhile  we  '11 
come  back  to  the  facts  of  life,  or  what  you  would  call 
its  illusions.  Turn  round,  and  you  '11  see  the  place 
to  which  I  am  going  to  take  you." 

Seaton  turned,  and  saw  at  the  base  of  the  moun- 
tains an  irregular  line  of  houses  lying  along  a  mile 
of  beach.  The  curve  of  the  land  formed  a  fine  nat- 
ural harbor:  in  which  were  a  number  of  fishing- 
boats,  and  the  whiteness  of  one  great  steam  yacht. 
There  was  also  a  pier,  which  the  launch  was  ap- 
proaching rapidly,  and  up  the  steps  of  which  the  phi- 
losophers were  soon  climbing. 

A  season  of  some  sort  was  evidently  in  full  prog- 
ress. The  pier  was  dotted  with  idle  and  sauntering 
strangers  —  giggling  groups  of  young  ladies,  chil- 
dren in  canvas  shoes,  and  florid  middle-aged  men, 
their  eyes  full  of  golf  and  whiskey;  whilst  amongst 
all  these,  and  forming  a  yet  more  remarkable  fea- 
ture, were  numerous  male  figures,  habited  in  un- 


64  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

broken  black,  with  white  specks  at  throats,  and  hats 
of  curious  shapes,  which  seemed  to  enunciate,  through 
their  special  curves  and  textures,  profound  but  con- 
flicting convictions  with  regard  to  Christian  theology. 
The  bearing,  the  smiles,  the  frowns,  and  the  whiskers 
of  these  reverend  personages,  were  even  more  va- 
rious than  their  hats,  and  suggested  the  nature  of 
their  relations  not  to  the  Church  only  but  to  the 
world.  Here  came  a  row  of  three  swinging  their 
sticks,  and  laughing;  here  a  pair  with  severe  pro- 
fessional mouths,  absorbed  in  controversy,  their  eyes 
fixed  on  the  ground;  here  a  lath-like  solitary,  rapt 
in  ascetic  meditation;  and  here  some  fatherly  pas- 
tor, accompanied  by  a  wife  and  family,  who  formed 
in  themselves  a  protest  against  the  wickedness  of 
sacerdotal  detachment. 

"  Well/'  said  Glanville  to  Seaton,  "  this,  if  noth- 
ing else,  should  convert  me  to  your  view  that  re- 
ligion is  as  flourishing  now  as  it  ever  was.  Do  you 
see  that  great  big  placard?  " 

"  What?  "  said  Seaton.  "  Do  you  mean  '  Congre- 
gational Prayers  for  rain? '  " 

"  No,"  replied  Glanville.  "  The  next  placard  — 
Conferences  on  Religion  and  Science.  Let  us  ex- 
amine them.  See  the  Conferences  are  to  be  held 
in  the  hall  of  the  Clerical  Hotel.  That 's  just  as  it 
should  be.  The  hotel  is  on  my  property.  '  Clergy 
and  others  of  all  denominations  invited/  And 
now,"  he  continued,  "  what  are  the  subjects  ?  Con- 
ference I  —  Ways  to  Faith. —  The  old  way  —  the 
only  way.  Opening  address  by  the  Rev.  Wilfred 
Maxwell.  Conference  II  —  The  truth  of  Genesis 
attested  by  evolutionary  Science.     Conference  III — 


Theologians  in  Disguise  65 

The  witness  of  Science  to  the  miraculous  origin  of 
life.  Conference  IV  —  The  Downfall  of  Darwin- 
ism. Conference  V  —  Miracles  as  a  spiritual  sym- 
bolism. Conference  VI  —  The  Historical  reality  of 
God's  Covenant  with  "Abraham,  as  the  starting  povnt 
of  the,  Christian  faith.  Conference  VII  —  The 
Mind  of  the  Church.  An  address  on  this  subject 
will  be  given  by  the  Bight  Rev.  The  Bishop  of  Glas- 
tonbury." 

His  reading  was  here  interrupted  by  the  sound 
of  his  own  name,  which  a  voice  at  his  elbow  was 
pronouncing  in  accents  of  deferential  pleasure;  and 
the  next  moment  he  was  grasping  with  friendly 
recognition  the  hand  of  an  elderly  cleric  of  chastened 
but  not  unprosperous  aspect,  whose  slight  stoop,  and 
whose  somewhat  plaintive  intonation  had  an  air  of 
being  due  to  the  fact  that  it  was  incumbent  on  a 
Christian  to  mourn,  rather  than  to  the  fact  that  he 
had  personally  much  to  mourn  about.  It  appeared 
that  he  was  one  of  the  people  on  whom  Glanville 
was  going  to  call,  with  a  view,  it  appeared  further, 
to  settling  some  practical  point  with  him;  for  the 
two  were  presently  conversing  in  a  businesslike  and 
confidential  undertone.  "  Surely,"  said  the  clergy- 
man at  last.  "  I  We  no  other  engagement.  If  you 
want  me,  I  doubt  not  you  '11  just  send  me  a  telegram, 
and  the  excursion  in  your  beautiful  launch  would  be 
in  itself  a  pleasure.  I  think,"  he  went  on,  with  a 
slight  wave  of  the  hand,  "  you  must  know  Canon 
Morgan.  He  and  I  were  at  Cambridge  together.  I 
believe  that  since  then  we  had  hardly  met  till  yes- 
terday." 

Glanville  was  now  aware  of  another  clerical  per- 


66  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

sonage,  who  had  indeed  been  walking  with  the 
speaker,  but  whom  he  had  not  previously  noticed. 
This  gentleman  had  none  of  his  friend's  melancholy. 
He  wore  his  clerical  clothes  with  an  easy  fashionable 
negligence;  an  expensive  gold  cross  and  pencil  case 
dangled  together  amicably  on  his  waistcoat,  and  his 
scholarly  face  had  the  smile  of  a  prosperous  Chair- 
man about  to  announce  to  his  shareholders  a  good 
spiritual  dividend.  He  grasped  Glanville's  hand 
with  almost  superfluous  warmth,  and  reminded  him 
that  they  had  last  met  at  a  garden-party  at  Buck- 
ingham Palace.  "  London  for  me,"  he  said,  "  after 
my  late  sermons  in  the  Abbey  —  nothing  takes  it 
out  of  you  like  the  pulpit  —  not  even  the  House  of 
Commons  —  London  for  me  was  a  little  too  much 
this  summer :  so  my  doctor  —  capital  man  —  the 
King's  man  —  has  ordered  me  into  retreat  here. 
But,"  he  continued,  "  there's  no  rest  for  the  wicked. 
They'  ve  impressed  me,  even  here,  into  the  service. 
That 's  me,"  he  said,  drawing  Glanville  aside  — 
'  Miracles  as  a  spiritual  Symbolism/  I  wanted  them 
to  let  me  off  with  a  short  lecture  on  radium:  but 
perhaps  it 's  as  well  they  would  n't,  since  I  find,  as 
you  no  doubt  know,  we  've  the  greatest  scientific 
thinker  of  the  age  as  our  illustrious  neighbor.  Well, 
I  can  assure  you  we  've  an  odd  collection  here  — 
any  crank  who  is  anxious  to  patch  up  the  jewel-case, 
without  giving  a  thought  to  the  pearl  of  price  con- 
tained in  it.  They  're  going  to  prove  Genesis  by 
Darwin,  and  knock  down  Darwin  with  Genesis. 
There  goes  a  specimen.  Look  at  him.  He  calls 
himself  Father  Skipton.  I  do  n't  mind.  It 's  better 
that  this  sort  of  thing  should  work  itself  out  by  ex- 


Theologians  in  Disguise  67 

pressing  itself,  than  that  it  should  go  on  suppurating 
under  the  surface.  You  ought  to  come  over  when 
we  're  at  work  and  hear  us  at  it  —  hammer  and 
tongs." 

Glanville's  answer  to  this  was  given  in  a  subdued 
tone,  which  the  Canon  apparently  saw  no  occasion 
to  imitate. 

"  Lady  Snowdon  and  the  Bishop,"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Famous !  Dear  Lady  Snowdon  —  what  a  keen- 
witted woman  that  is  —  hard  as  nails.  What  would 
she  think  of  this  flummery?  And  the  Bishop — " 
he  went  on,  slightly  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  It 's 
not  for  me  to  speak  evil  of  dignities;  but,  my  dear 
Mr.  Glanville,  between  you  and  me,  a  mitre  in  the 
English  Church  is  apt  to  be  to  the  intellect  very  much 
what  an  extinguisher  is  to  a  guttering  tallow  candle. 
Well  —  I  must  n't  keep  you.  I  must  resume  my 
walk  with  my  dear  old  evangelical  friend  there. 
Good-bye  —  delighted  to  have  met  you.  Magnifi- 
cent yacht  that.  You  know  whose  it  is,  I  suppose. 
It 's  the  Phryne  —  Sir  Eoderick  Harborough's." 

"  Now,  my  dear  Alistair,"  said  Glanville,  when 
once  more  they  were  alone  together,  "  we  '11  go  and 
see  some  other  wonders.  I  did  n't  introduce  you  to 
those.  I  dare  say  you  are  grateful  to  me.  The  dear 
old  gentleman  who  spoke  to  me  first  is  Mr.  Maxwell 
—  a  clergyman  from  County  Down.  He  spends  his 
summer  here,  and  is  good  enough  sometimes  to  come 
over  and  give  us  a  service  in  my  church.  I  was  go- 
ing to  look  for  him  at  his  hotel.  We  need  n't  do  so 
now.  Instead,  I  will  take  you  to  something  very 
much  more  exciting." 

A  walk  of  ten  minutes  brought  them  to  the  end  of 


68  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

the  town,  where  a  one-storied  gothic  villa  perched  on 
a  sandy  slope,  looked  at  the  road  between  the  posts 
of  a  shallow  verandah. 

"  In  my  uncle's  time,"  said  Glanville,  "  this  house 
was  the  agent's.  I  do  n't  know  the  present  tenant, 
but  I  ought  to  make  his  acquaintance.  If  I  find  him 
at  home,  I  '11  send  for  you;  and  I  beg  that  you  '11 
come  in." 

Glanville  went  up  the  short  approach,  tugged 
vigorously  at  the  bell,  and  elicited  a  maid  whom  he 
followed,  after  a  brief  parley  with  her,  into  the 
house.  A  few  minutes  later  the  maid  emerged 
once  more,  and  invited  Seaton  to  be  so  good  as  to 
step  in  likewise.  Seaton  remembered  that  he  had 
not  the  least  idea  as  to  whose  abode  he  was  thus  about 
to  invade.  He  was  ushered,  in  awkward  ignorance, 
into  the  presence  of  an  unknown  host;  and  Glanville, 
in  accordance  with  a  much  too  frequent  practice, 
mentioned  one  name  only  in  introducing  him;  and 
that  name  was  Seaton's  own. 

The  room  was  furnished  as  a  dining-room;  but  it 
was  plain  that  its  present  occupant  not  only  ate  but 
lived  in  it;  for  many  of  the  chairs  were  loaded  with 
the  Reports  of  learned  societies;  and  the  side-board 
was  adorned  with  an  inkstand  in  addition  to  a  cheese 
and  a  biscuit-tin.  A  still  more  remarkable  spectacle 
was,  however,  afforded  by  the  table.  There,  on  a 
green  baize  cover,  stood  an  air-pump  with  a  glass 
bell;  close  beside  it  was  an  ordinary  kitchen  weigh- 
ing-machine, with  some  weights  in  one  scale,  and  a 
raw  mutton  chop  in  the  other:  and  close  to  the  table 
was  a  blushing  and  fluttered  young  lady  who  seemed 
anxious  to  escape,  like  a  swallow,  through  the  first 


Theologians  in  Disguise  69 

available  aperture.  Seaton's  entrance  sufficed  to 
give  her  the  courage  of  desperation.  "  I  'm  afraid  I 
can  't  wait/'  she  gasped.  "  Some  gentlemen  will  be 
expecting  me  at  croquet." 

"  I  will  then/'  said  her  host,  "  bid  you  good-bye 
for  the  present.  And  do  n't  forget,  at  your  game, 
that  the  balls,  in  all  their  movements,  however  er- 
ratic and  unexpected  by  you,  represent  the  exact  re- 
sults of  a  catena  of  antecedent  causes." 

The  young  lady  when  she  reached  the  door  ap- 
peared to  recover  her  assurance.  "  You  would  not 
think  that,"  she  said,  "  if  you  saw  young  Mr.  Max- 
well. I'm  sure,  if  he  happens  to  hit  anything,  it 's 
due  to  no  cause  at  all." 

Seaton,  when  she  was  gone,  was  able  to  examine 
his  host.  He  was  dressed  in  a  long  frock  coat  and  a 
waistcoat  flecked  with  bread-crumbs;  but  his  tall  and 
commanding  presence  transfigured  both  his  dress  and 
the  room,  and  seemed  to  diffuse  around  him  an  at- 
mosphere charged  with  power.  So  much  was  this 
the  case  that  Seaton  felt  almost  shocked  at  the  flip- 
pant temerity  with  which  Glanville  ventured  to  ad- 
dress him. 

"  I'  m  much  afraid,"  said  Glanville,  "  that  Mr. 
Seaton  and  I  have  —  I  trust  only  for  a  moment  — 
separated  an  Eloisa  from  an  Abelard." 

The  other,  however,  was  above  the  reach  of  levity. 
"No  —  no, — "  he  said.  "I  am  sincerely  gratified 
by  seeing  you.  I  have  to  pay  a  feudal  duty  of 
thanks  to  a  most  liberal  landlord.  Did  you  happen  to 
hear  what  that  young  woman  said  ?  It  showed  — 
what  I  always  find  —  that  by  far  the  most  difficult 


70  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

thing  to  instil  into  the  ordinary  minds  is  the  idea  of 
universal  causation." 

"  And  who/'  asked  Glanville,  "  is  your  fair  pupil? 
And  '  What  meant  that  tumult  in  the  vestal's  veins  ' 
as  she  went?  " 

"  I  presume,"  said  the  other  smiling,  "  that  you 
have  quoted  a  line  of  poetry.     Poetry  for  me,  I  fear, 
is  a  non-functional  by-product  of  organic  life,  which 
I  understand  as  little  as  I  cultivate  it.     The  young 
lady  is  Miss  Kathleen  Walsh  —  niece  of  your  late 
agent,    and   daughter   of   a   Protestant   clergyman. 
You  see  those  scales,  and  that  air-pump.     I  '11  tell 
you  the  use  I  was  making  of  them.     Miss  Walsh, 
with  whom  I  frequently  take  a  constitutional  walk 
in  the  morning  is  interesting  as  a  specimen  of  the 
workings  of  the  ordinary  mind.     She  informed  me 
that  there  was,  or  is  going  to  be  —  I  forget  which  — 
some  religious  service,  or  gathering  here,  the  object 
of  which  is  to  pray  for  rain.     I  asked  if  she  believed 
in  the  efficacy  of  such  means  of  modifying  the  me- 
teorological conditions  of  the  district.     She  mani- 
fested surprise  at  my  doubting  it.     I  have  just  now 
been  having  a  little  grave  talk  with  her  on  the  sub- 
ject —  illustrated  by  experiments.     I  had  that  mut- 
ton-chop brought  in  —  my  evening's  dinner  —  and, 
as  she  remarked,  not  a  large  specimen  of  its  kind. 
We  weighed  it;    and  then  I  asked  her  if  she  would 
think  it  right  and  reasonable  to  offer  up  a  prayer  that 
the  chop  might  be  made  heavier.     She  said  no.     I 
asked  her  her  reason  for  giving  me  so  sensible  an 
answer;    and  she  said  that  the  reason  was  that  to 
make  the  chop  heavier  would  be  a  miracle;    and 
miracles,  as  every  Protestant  knows,  came  to  an  end 


Theologians  in  Disguise  71 

with  the  death  of  the  last  Apostle.  Very  well  then, 
I  said,  let  us  now  turn  to  this  air-pump.  I 
explained  to  her  the  nature  of  a  vacuum.  I  ex- 
hausted the  glass  bell,  and  showed  her  how,  on  my 
turning  a  tap,  the  air  rushed  into  it.  I  then  said  to 
her,  Would  you  think,  my  dear  young  lady,  of  pray- 
ing that  air  might  not  rush  into  vacuum  ?  You  would 
no  more  do  that  than  you  would  think,  as  a  young 
housekeeper,  of  keeping  down  the  butcher's  bill  by 
praying  that  every  pound  of  meat  might  miracu- 
lously be  converted  into  two.  She  admitted  all  this: 
and  I  was  saying  to  her,  Mr.  Glanville,  when  you 
entered,  Then  why  should  you  ask  God  —  as  you  ask 
when  you  pray  for  rain  —  to  do  something  with  the 
atmosphere  of  the  whole  world  which  you  admit  it 
would  be  absurd  to  expect  Him  to  do  with  regard  to 
that  pneumatic  toy?  There  is  more  in  that  argu- 
ment, as  you,  Mr.  Glanville  know,  than  at  first  meets 
the  eye  of  a  young  woman  like  Miss  Walsh  —  a  great 
deal  more  than  meets  the  eye  of  these  strange  sur- 
vivals from  the  past,  who  are  crowding  here  to 
wrangle  over  the  details  of  the  Helvaic  cult.  If  a 
catarrh  with  which  I  am  somewhat  afflicted  permits 
me,  I  propose  with  the  aid  of  my  air-pump,  to  give  a 
little  lecture  on  this  same  subject  here." 

"  Then  so  far  as  I  gather,"  said  Seaton,  with  ex- 
treme deference,  "  the  great  sign  and  wonder  that 
will  mark  the  general  triumph  of  science,  will  be  the 
general  cessation  of  prayer." 

"  Assuredly,"  said  his  host,  "  it  will  be  one  of  them 
—  that  is,  if  by  prayer  we  mean  more  than  an  elevat- 
ing reflection  on  the  unalterable  character  of  our 
known  relations  to  the  Unknowable." 


72  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

"  In  other  words,"  said  Seaton,  "  religious  Theol- 
ogy means  the  organized  knowledge  of  God.  Scien- 
tific Theology  means  our  organized  recognition  of 
our  ignorance  of  Him." 

"  I  wish,"  interrupted  Glanville,  "  if  Miss  Walsh's 
attractions  are  not  too  much  for  you,  you  'd  come 
over  to  me  for  a  night  or  two,  and  give  a  lecture  on 
Causation  to  my  friends." 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  the  host  gravely.  "  General 
society  is  not  much  in  my  line.  Fashionable  society 
is  not  in  my  line  at  all.  But  I  have  always  held  that 
rational  conversation  is  a  valuable  stimulant  to  the 
cerebral,  and  also  to  the  digestive  organs;  and  per- 
haps, if  I  saw  my  way  to  accepting  your  kind  sug- 
gestion, you  might  assist  me  in  a  work  on  which  I 
am  now  engaged  —  a  collection  of  racial  traits  pecu- 
liar to  the  Irish  Kelts." 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Glanville.  "  Think  the  mat- 
ter over.     We  can  arrange  it  by  post  or  telegram." 

The  conversation  then  diverged  to  the  general 
conditions  of  Ireland,  and  in  due  time  the  two  visi- 
tors withdrew. 

"  And  who  is  it  we  've  been  calling  on? "  asked 
Seaton,  when  they  were  outside  the  house. 

"He,"  said  Glanville,  "is  the  great  Mr.  Cosmo 
Brock  —  the  hierophant  of  that  modern  knowledge 
which  we  spent  the  morning  in  quarrelling  over. 
And  now  we  must  be  hurrying  back,  as  fast  as  the 
launch  can  take  us;  for  my  friends  are  coming  by 
two  different  routes;  and  if  they  do  n't  have  a  break- 
down as  we  did,  some  of  them  will  have  arrived  be- 
fore us." 

It  was  nearly  six  o'clock  by  the  time  they  had 


Theologians  in  Disguise  73 

reached  home  again.  As  they  walked  along  the  ter- 
race between  the  house  and  the  orange-trees, 
Seaton's  heart  sank;  for  he  saw  at  an  open  window 
some  black  things  which  were  not  shadows,  and  some 
white  things  which  were  not  curtains.  These  things 
—  and  he  knew  it  —  were  the  skirts  of  feminine 
dresses. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE  unhappy  Seaton,  who  shrank  from  these 
fringes  of  the  fashionable  world,  retired  for 
refuge  to  the  conventual  seclusion  of  his  bed-room, 
where  he  cultivated  his  shrinking  from  society  till 
the  gong  sounded  for  dinner :  nor  did  he  derive  much 
comfort  from  the  assurance  which  Glanville  had 
given  him  that  he  would  find  the  intruding  company 
to  be  really  theologians  in  disguise.  With  the  cour- 
age of  shyness,  however,  whilst  the  gong  was  still 
reverberating,  he  gave  a  last  pull  to  his  neck-tie,  and 
went  down  to  meet  his  doom.  When  he  entered  the 
drawing-room  he  found  himself  alone  with  a  man, 
whose  attitude  might  be  called  a  kind  of  an  arrested 
strut,  and  who  was  standing  before  the  empty  fire- 
place. The  aspect  of  this  personage  was  certainly 
not  theological.  His  age  might  have  been  about 
sixty.  His  carefully  trimmed  moustache  was  slightly 
waxed  at  the  tips;  a  turquoise  surrounded  by  dia- 
monds shone  on  his  shirt  front;  and  his  collar,  as 
though  it  were  a  bearing-rein,  so  upheld  his  chin  that 
he  jerked  his  head  at  intervals  with  a  kind  of  jaunty 
restiveness.  Seaton,  with  his  grey-blue  eyes,  which 
were  dreamy  though  half  humorous,  with  his  shock 
of  ruddy  hair,  and  the  hesitating  uncertainty  of  his 
pose,  formed  a  curious  contrast  to  the  stranger,  who 
seemed  to  be  certain  of  everything.     The  two  men 

74 


Theologians  in  Disguise  75 

bowed  and  looked  at  each  other  like  dogs  of  different 
species. 

At  length  the  gentleman  of  the  magnificent  tur- 
quoise stud  gave  a  nervous  pull  to  the  corresponding 
turquoises  on  his  cuffs,  and  said  abruptly,  "  I  wonder 
if  our  host  has  any  grouse  here." 

Seaton's  answer  was  a  faltering  murmur,  which 
sounded  like  "  I  do  n't  know." 

"  Ireland,"  said  the  other,  as  if  he  were  addressing 
the  window,  "might,  if  properly  managed,  be  the 
finest  sporting  country  in  the  world.  But  it 's  never 
been  the  fashion.     God  knows  why  —  but  it  has  n't." 

Here  he  stopped  short  and  turned  round  to  look 
at  the  doorway,  through  which  Glanville  now  en- 
tered, with  a  lady  in  black  preceding  him.  Her 
handsome  face  was  sympathetic  and  full  of  thought; 
and  Seaton,  the  moment  he  saw  her,  experienced  a 
sensation  of  relief.  "  My  dear  Mr.  Glanville,"  he 
heard  her  say  to  her  host,  "  I  'd  no  idea  I  was  to  be 
meeting  such  very  smart  company  as  this." 

"  Never  mind,"  replied  Glanville  in  a  soothing- 
voice.  "  He  's  only  here  for  a  night.  To-morrow  he 
joins  his  yacht  —  he  and  several  others."  Then 
coming  up  to  Seaton,  and  laying  a  hand  on  his  arm, 
"  I  see,"  he  said,  "  you  've  already  made  acquaintance 
with  Sir  Eoderick  Harborough.  Here  ?s  Mrs.  Ver- 
non, who  tells  me  she  's  an  old  friend  of  yours." 

Seaton  started.  He  scrutinized  the  lady  in  black, 
and  then  was  aware  that  his  hand  was  being  grasped 
by  hers,  whilst  her  cordial  voice  was  recalling  the 
pleasant  fact  that  years  ago  she  had  met  him  at  his 
uncle's  house  in  Lanarkshire.  This  incipient  con- 
versation was,  however,  promptly  interrupted  by  Sir 


76  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

Koderick,  who,  feeling  that  the  times  were  out  of 
joint,  when  anybody  of  importance  overlooked  him, 
claimed  Mrs.  Vernon's  attention  as  something  prop- 
erly belonging  to  himself.  Mrs.  Vernon  replied 
with  a  graciousness  that  was  not  without  a  sting  of 
frost  in  it,  and  at  once  went  on  to  this  question, 
"  How  is  Lady  Honoria?  " 

Sir  Roderick  was  a  man  whom  any  allusion  to  his 
wife  was  apt  to  affect  like  cold  water  dropped  into  a 
boiling  sauce-pan.  "Lady  Honoria,"  he  said  drily, 
"is  enjoying  the  very  best  of  health,  which  she 
wouldn't  be  doing  if  she  came  yachting  with  me. 
My  dear,  sweet  child,  who  's  your  new  dressmaker? 
Let  me  look  at  you." 

The  last  words  were  addressed  not  to  Mrs.  Ver- 
non, but  to  an  upstanding  young  lady,  with  slightly 
protruding  eyes,  and  a  self-possessed  frank  expres- 
sion, to  whom  Sir  Roderick  had  attached  himself  by 
taking  possession  of  her  arm,  and  turning  her  round 
to  the  light  in  order  to  examine  her  toilette. 

Meanwhile  the  room  had  been  slowly  filling. 
Seaton  could  not  make  out  much  with  regard  to  the 
composition  of  the  assemblage;  but  he  found,  when 
dinner  was  announced,  that  Mrs.  Vernon  was  as- 
signed to  him  as  a  partner,  whilst  Glanville  led  the 
way  with  a  lady  of  stately  aspect,  to  whose  hair,  like 
white  floss  silk,  slightly  sprinkled  with  diamonds, 
some  black  lace  was  attached,  which  gave  her  the  air 
of  an  abbess. 

When  the  dimness  of  the  drawing-room  had  been 
exchanged  for  the  sparkling  lights  of  the  dining- 
room,  some  dozen  people  found  themselves  confront- 
ing each  other  at  a  round  table;   and,  Mrs.  Vernon's 


Theologians  in  Disguise  77 

attention  having  been  engrossed  by  her  other  neigh- 
bor, Seaton  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  look  about  him 
and  listen.  At  first  everything  was  for  him  a  mere 
Babel  of  voices,  like  sounds  heard  in  a  dream.  Then 
he  became  conscious  of  the  clear  and  incisive  articu- 
lation of  a  jewelled  little  lady  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  table,  who  had  lately  it  appeared  been  assisting 
at  some  royal  picnic,  and  whose  face  still  shone  with 
the  glories  of  the  social  Sinai.  Seaton  pricked  up 
his  ears  as  he  listened  to  her,  for  she  seemed  to  be 
talking  sense.  She  was  informing  a  dignitary,  who 
wore  tKe  garb  of  a  bishop,  that  certain  fiscal  reforms 
of  a  highly  complicated  nature,  which  rumor  said 
were  to  be  advocated  by  a  leading  member  of  the 
Government,  would  ruin  every  trade  in  the  country, 
and  especially  the  dear  old  poor  people.  "  You 
should  have  heard  Francie  Duchess  the  other  night," 
she  continued.  "  She  was  even  more  rabid  than  I." 
The  Bishop,  who  was  evidently  of  the  lady's  way  of 
thinking,  declared  himself  pleased  to  find  that  she 
had  formed  so  sound  a  judgment:  but  he  was  not 
equally  pleased  when  the  lady  improved  the  occasion 
by  rallying  him,  with  condescending  friendliness,  on 
the  beauty  of  his  episcopal  ring.  "I  should  like," 
she  said,  "  to  go  down  on  my  knees  to  it,  as  Francie 
does  to  her  Cardinal."  The  Bishop  withdrew  his 
episcopal  hand  hastily,  and  was  grateful  to  Glan- 
ville,  who  had  caught  the  conversation,  for  interpos- 
ing. 

"You  must,"  said  Glanville  to  the  lady  —  a 
newly-risen  star  of  fashion,  "  have  a  genius  for  bal- 
ancing arguments  on  both  sides  of  the  question,  since 


78  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

your  judgment  has  been  formed  so  quickly,  and  with 
such  refreshing  decision." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  lady  airily,  "  women  can  form  their 
judgments  —  I  do  n't  know  if  I  've  got  quite  the 
right  word  —  by  intuition.  They  do  n't  want  to 
burrow  like  moles  through  a  lot  of  stupid  old  argu- 
ments. Is  n't  that  so,  Bishop?  I  'm  quite  sure  you 
agree  with  me." 

"  Come,"  said  Glanville,  "  what  are  the  Bishop's 
views  on  the  value  of  feminine  judgment  I  " 

The  Bishop  who  saw  in  a  topic  of  this  kind  a  con- 
versational mound  on  which  he  could  climb  into  dig- 
nity, sharply  cleared  his  throat,  as  though  he  were 
still  what  he  once  had  been  —  a  schoolmaster,  and 
was  about  to  intimidate  his  pupils  with  some  public 
announcement. 

"  I  agree  with  Mrs.  Harland,"  he  said,  deigning 
to  smile  slightly,  "  that  judgment,  whether  feminine 
or  masculine,  is  independent  of  formal  arguments. 
We  do  n't  praise  a  man's  judgment  when  he  accepts 
the  demonstrations  of  Euclid.  A  judgment,  I  should 
say,  is  the  result  of  arguments  that  are  unconscious. 
The  mind  in  forming  it  works  so  fast,  and  on  so  many 
materials,  that  we  can  follow  its  operations  no  more 
than  we  can  follow  the  circulation  of  our  blood.  A 
judgment  is  something  that  is  formed  for  us,  rather 
than  formed  by  us,  just  as  a  clear  image  of  a  distant 
object  is  formed  on  the  retina  of  a  person  who  is 
gifted  with  long  sight." 

Seaton  began  to  think  that  the  conversation  was 
taking  a  turn  which  sooner  or  later  might  make  him 
wish  to  join  in  it:  but  a  lady,  not  Mrs.  Harland,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Bishop  at  once  captured  his 


Theologians  in  Disguise  79 

attention,  with  a  pair  of  admiring  eyes,  and  lured 
him  down  like  a  Lorelei,  into  the  depths  of  some  pri- 
vate intercourse:  and  presently  Seaton' s  ears  re- 
fused, do  what  he  would,  to  hear  any  other  sound  but 
the  voice  of  Sir  Roderick  Harborough,  who  a  little 
way  off,  was  informing  some  lady  of  his  own  com- 
plete agreement  with  the  dying  words  of  a  friend  of 
his,  to  the  effect  that  remorse  was  infinitely  prefer- 
able to  regret.  "  Remorse  for  what  you  've  enjoyed," 
said  Sir  Roderick  —  "  so  we  're  told,  and  so  I  firmly 
believe  —  can  be  put  right  by  the  Church,  and  the 
more  there  is  of  it  the  easier  the  Church  can  cure 
you:  but  it  would  take  a  good  many  persons  some- 
times to  cure  you  of  regret  for  what  you  ?ve  missed." 
Here  again  was  a  topic  which  Seaton  thought 
worth  debating,  though  Sir  Roderick  had  stated  his 
principle  of  moral  philosophy  in  a  manner  different 
from  that  of  the  professors  to  whom  Seaton  was  ac- 
customed: but  even  this  fragment  of  intelligible 
opinion  was  lost  forthwith  in  an  interchange,  which 
now  was  growing  more  general,  of  personal  news  and 
questions,  most  of  which,  so  far  as  Seaton  was  con- 
cerned, might  have  referred  to  the  population  of 
Mars.  They  bore  a  singular  resemblance  to  those 
which  had,  at  the  ball  in  London,  sent  Mr.  Brock 
to  his  bed  with  such  a  sense  of  his  own  superiority. 
Indeed  one  of  the  subjects  was  the  same  —  namely 
the  doings  of  the  fair  Mrs.  Majendie,  who  seemed  to 
be  on  the  eve  of  achieving  renown  in  the  Divorce 
Court,  and  already  was  far  more  celebrated  than 
most  Cabinet  Ministers.  Another  subject  which 
proved  equally  popular,  was  someone  bearing  the 
surname,  or  the  Christian  name  of  Marcus,  who  had 


80  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

been  caught  cheating  at  cards,  and  whose  reputation 
had  exploded  like  a  shell.  A  certain  Lady  Cicely 
Morland  was  frequently  mentioned  also,  with  a 
blame  that  was  akin  to  pity,  as  having  once  again 
been  her  own  worst  enemy  through  what  seemed  her 
besetting  weakness  —  a  public  lapse  from  sobriety: 
whilst  another  lady,  with  whose  name  Seaton  himself 
was  familiar,  she  being  now  on  her  trial  for  mal- 
treating one  of  her  children,  was  much  in  request  as 
a  victim  of  indignant  conversational  justice.  The 
Bishop  alone,  with  his  soft-eyed  admiring  neighbor, 
was  lost  to  the  world  in  the  privacy  of  some  superior 
communion;  and  he  trifled  meanwhile  with  a  curi- 
ous antique  spoon,  which  he  eyed  superciliously  as 
though  it  were  a  Koman  doctrine. 

Seaton,  however,  in  spite  of  all  this,  began  to  feel 
somewhat  happier  when  Mrs.  Yernon,  freeing  her- 
self from  his  rival,  turned  to  him  with  an  air  of  in- 
timacy, and  having  found  that  most  of  the  persons 
present  were  strangers  to  him,  discreetly  lowered  her 
voice  and  set  herself  to  give  him  an  account  of  them. 
One  of  them  was  Lord  Restormel,  an  ex-viceroy  of 
India.  Another  was  Mr.  Brompton,  once  a  Roman 
Catholic  priest,  who  had  married  a  wife  and  invented 
a  new  religion.  The  girl  with  the  protruding  eyes, 
and  spluttering  utterance,  was  Miss  Hagley.  "  And 
that,"  Mrs.  Yernon  continued,  "is  the  Bishop  of 
Glastonbury  facing  you.  The  lady  next  him  —  I 
do  n't  mean  the  vulgar  little  cat  who  just  now  was 
talking  about  taxation  and  duchesses  —  I  mean," 
she  said  lowering  her  voice,  "  the  one  who's  got 
hold  of  him  now,  and  is  talking  about  sermons  and 
preachers.     She  's  the  wife  of  Captain  Jeffries,  my 


Theologians  in  Disguise  81 

neighbor.  She  's  the  largest-hearted  woman  in  the 
world,  as  everybody  knows  except  him.  She  never 
says  '  No  '  to  a  man,  and  never  abuses  a  woman :  and 
the  odd  thing  is  that  the  saintliest  clergy  adore  her 
as  much  as  secular  sinners,  though  I  hope  in- a  differ- 
ent way.  The  man  with  sparkling  eyes,  and  eager 
gesticulating  hands,  is  Mr.  Hancock,  the  editor  of 
The  Dictionary  of  Contemporary  Life.  There  's  no 
one  he  does  n't  know,  and  there  's  nothing  he  won't 
talk  about.  The  white-haired  lady  by  Mr.  Glanville 
is  Lady  Snowdon,  my  aunt.  Happily,  she  's  as  clever 
as  she  thinks  she  is  —  else  she  would  not  be  endur- 
able. The  man  trying  to  make  love  to  Mrs.  Harland 
is  that  odious  Sir  Eoderick  Harborough,  as  you  know. 
His  wife  is  an  admirable  woman,  and  yet  he  has 
three  establishments.  I  '11  tell  you  more  afterwards. 
Let  us  listen  to  what  the  Bishop  is  saying." 

It  seemed  that  by  this  time  the  circulation  of 
topics  had  brought  to  the  Bishop  the  story  of  the 
lady  who  had  lapsed  from  sobriety,  and  that  he  was 
wrapping  her  reputation  in  the  mantle  of  Christian 
charity.  "  In  a  case  like  hers,"  he  was  saying  to  the 
whole  table,  "  one  should  be  very  cautious  in  judging 
—  very  cautious.  Her  father,  her  grandfather, 
three  of  her  four  uncles  —  it 's  a  sad  thing  to  think 
of  —  all  had  the  same  failing.  One  may  venture  to 
call  it  in  her  case  not  a  fault,  but  a  physical  malady." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Sir  Eoderick.  "  I  knew  them 
all  —  every  one  of  'em  —  capital  fellows,  none  bet- 
ter —  except  —  well,  except  for  this ;  "  —  and  he 
delicately  explained  his  meaning  by  raising  a  glass 
of  champagne  a  trifle  higher  than  was  necessary  be- 
fore he  proceeded  to  drink  it.     "It 's  not  her  fault  — 


82  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

not  her  fault  at  all.  Some  people  are  born  that  way. 
Eh,  what?  "  he  exclaimed,  suddenly  leaning  forward. 
"  What 's  that  you  're  saying,  Rupert?  Did  I  hear 
you  saying  you  'd  have  Marcus  down  here  to  stay 
with  you?  Why,  I  tell  you,  Jack  Hereford  saw  the 
cards  in  his  hand.  God  bless  my  soul !  You  '11  be 
having  Mrs.  Masters  next  —  is  that  the  she-devil's 
name?  —  who  crippled  her  child  by  beating  it?  " 

"  I  think,"  replied  Glanville,  "  that  we  are  prob- 
ably much  too  hard  on  her.  For  all  we  know  the 
child  was  intolerably  irritating;  and  I  'm  sure,  from 
her  pictures,  that  the  mother  has  bad  temper  en- 
grained in  her  constitution." 

In  spite  of  the  deference  due  from  guests  to  host, 
this  utterance  of  Glanville's  was  received  with  a 
murmur  of  shocked  remonstrance;  whilst  Sir  Roder- 
ick pulled  his  moustache  by  one  of  its  waxed  ends, 
and  dragged  a  fold  of  his  throat  through  the  points 
of  his  collar  in  indignation. 

"  How  do  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Jeffries,  her 
cheeks  pink  with  emotion,  "how  do  you  know  that 
the  poor  little  thing  was  irritating?  A  woman  with 
Mrs.  Masters'  mouth  would  be  cruel  to  a  perfect 
angel." 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Mr.  Hancock  eagerly,  "  I  can 
tell  you  about  Mrs.  Masters  a  very  curious  thing. 
My  friend  Dr.  Hudson,  the  celebrated  criminal 
pathologist,  assures  me  that  the  skull  of  this  lady  is 
just  the  same  in  shape  as  that  of  Marie  Godin  —  you 
must  all  of  you  remember  the  case  —  who  murdered 
her  three  children  six  years  ago  at  Lyons." 

"  I  can  quite  believe  it,"  said  Captain  Jeffries 
solemnly.     "  I  saw  Mrs.  Masters  in  court  —  I  often 


Theologians  in  Disguise  83 

go  to  hear  cases  when  there  's  nothing  worth  looking 
at  at  Christie's  —  and  I  tell  you,  Kupert,  if  Mrs. 
Masters  did  n't  look  like  what  I  believe  she  is  —  a 
lady,  she  's  the  sort  of  woman  a  policeman  would  run 
in  in  the  street  —  run  her  in  without  waiting  to  ask 
if  she  'd  done  anything.  And  her  being  a  lady,"  he 
added,  "  only  makes  it  worse." 

"  And  tell  me,  Dick,"  said  Glanville,  "  do  you  think 
that  a  British  jury,  when  they  look,  as  they  probably 
will  look,  at  the  mouth  and  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Majen- 
die,  mil  come  to  a  conclusion  about  her  conduct  in 
the  same  summary  manner?  " 

"  Mrs.  Majendie,"  said  Sir  Roderick  doggedly, "  is 
a  very  dear  little,  nice  little,  amiable  little  lady.  She 
never  did  an  unkind  thing  in  her  life.  It 's  not  in 
her.  I  only  wish  I  could  have  taken  her  yachting 
with  me,  till  all  her  troubles  were  over." 

"  That,  Sir  Roderick,"  said  Lady  Snowdon, 
a  would  have  established  her  reputation  at  once." 
Lady  Snowdon  spoke  in  a  tone  of  condescending  sar- 
casm; but  her  words  came  to  Sir  Roderick  as  the 
choicest  of  all  possible  compliments;  and  he  smiled 
at  himself  in  his  silver  plate,  rejoicing  that  he  looked 
so  young. 

"  Listen,  Roderick,"  said  Glanville,  "  let  us  make 
up  —  me  and  you  —  a  choice  little  yachting  party 
together.  You  shall  bring  Lady  Cicely  and  Mrs. 
Majendie.  I  '11  bring  Mrs.  Masters  and  Marcus. 
These  two  could  help  themselves  no  more  than  the 
others.  You  tell  us  that  Mrs.  Majendie  can  't  help 
being  kind.  The  Bishop  tells  us  that  Lady  Cicely 
can  't  help  being  tipsy.  Dr.  Hudson  says  that  Mrs. 
Masters  can  't  help  being  cruel :  and  Marcus  —  why 


84  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

should  we  leave  him  out  in  the  cold  — he,  no  doubt, 
is  unable  to  help  cheating.  They  are  none  of  them 
guilty  of  faults.  They  are  all  of  them  victims  of 
malformations  —  or  maladies,  for  that  is  the  word 
which,  I  think  the  Bishop  recommended  to  us." 

The  Bishop  looked  at  Glanville  with  an  expression 
of  extreme  annoyance.  f 

"  If  you  argue  like  that,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  to 
whom  such  discussions  were  familiar,  "  where  will 
you  draw  the  line?  " 

"  Precisely,"  said  Glanville.  "  That  is  the  prob- 
lem—  where?  Who  is  the  theologian,  who  is  the 
philosopher,  that  will  tell  us?  " 

This  sceptical  question  was  hardly  out  of  his  mouth 
when  it  seemed  as  if  a  prophet  had  been  specially 
raised  up  to  answer  it.  The  Bishop's  lips  were  tight- 
ly closed,  like  a  vice;  but  Sir  Roderick  Harborough, 
who  had  been  fuming  for  the  last  five  minutes,  now 
saw  his  opportunity,  and,  pushing  his  wine-glass  away 
from  him,  spoke  under  an  inspiration  at  once  so 
urgent  and  copious  that  it  hardly  allowed  his  mes- 
sage to  arrange  itself  in  logical  order.  His  style 
moreover  was  naturally  not  that  of  an  Isaiah. 

"  Hang  it,  Rupert,"  he  began,  "  it 's  very  unbe- 
coming in  me,  who  sit  here  drinking  your  champagne 
—  and  very  fine  champagne  it  is  —  if  I  'm  not  mis- 
taken it  's  Pil  Roger  of  '  eighty-six  '  —  it 's  very  un- 
becoming in  me  to  tell  you  you  're  talking  nonsense. 
But  do  you  mean  seriously  to  say  that  a  man  like 
Marcus  —  born  a  gentleman  —  a  cool  man,  with  all 
his  wits  about  him  —  I  never  saw  anybody  cooler 
under  fire  than  Marcus  was  —  could  no  more  help 
cheating  at  cards  than  he  could  help  having  measles 


Theologians  in  Disguise  85 

or  a  cough?  For  that's  what  all  your  talk  about 
bumps  and  maladies  comes  to.  Do  you  mean  to  say 
that  I  happen  not  to  be  a  blackguard  only  because 
my  head  is  some  particular  shape  ?  Do  you  mean  to 
say  that  we  —  we  the  Committee  of  the  Turf  Club 

—  should  have  kept  the  fellow  on,  in  order  to  have 
our  pockets  picked  by  him,  on  the  ground  that  he 
picked  them  because  he  could  n't  possibly  help  it?  " 

"  My  dear  Koderick,"  said  Glanville,  "  you  might 
have  kept  him  out  of  the  card-room.  That  would 
have  been  quite  sufficient.  You  might  have  safely 
smoked  or  dined  with  him,  or  walked  with  him  in  the 
Park,  as  I  've  very  often  seen  you  doing." 

"Walk  with  him  in  the  Park!"  exclaimed  Sir 
Roderick  with  increasing  vehemence.  "  Walk  in  the 
Park  in  the  morning  with  a  man  who,  whether  he 
could  help  it  or  not,  would,  as  all  London  knows,  be 
picking  my  pocket  at  night  —  or  if  not  mine,  yours ! 
But  it 's  not  that,  Rupert.  You  're  quite  on  the 
wrong  track.  The  fellow  could  help  it,  be  the  shape 
of  his  head  what  it  will:  and  I  'd  say  the  same,  and 
I  'd  never  be  in  the  same  room  with  him,  if  I  knew 
that  he  'd  never  touch  a  card  again  till  doomsday. 
God  bless  my  soul,"  he  continued,  "  what  would  be- 
come of  us  all  —  what  would  become  of  morality  — 
what  would  become  of  religion  —  eh,  Bishop  —  what 
would  become  of  the  turf,  if  we  could  none  of  us  run 
straight  when  we  were  tempted  to  run  crooked? 
And  Marcus  was  n't  tempted  —  that 's  another  point. 
What  was  a  ten-pound  note  —  what  was  a  monkey 

—  to  him?  He  cheated  because  he  was  determined 
to  cheat;  and  if  the  Committee  hadn't  done  what 
they  did  —  not  that  there  was  any  question  of  that 


86  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

— I,  for  one,  should  have  resigned ;  and  I  '11  tell  you 
on  what  ground.  I  do  n't  want,"  he  said,  "  to  usurp 
the  Bishop's  place  —  and  I  'm  quite  sure  he  '11  agree 
with  me  —  I  should  have  resigned  on  the  ground  that 
to  condone  a  fault  is  to  be  guilty  of  it." 

This  new  summing  up  of  the  Christian  code  of 
morality  produced  a  silence,  which  was,  however, 
promptly  broken.  It  was  broken  by  an  unexpected 
speaker.  This  was  Miss  Hagley,  the  young  lady 
with  the  protruding  eyes,  and  slightly  spluttering 
utterance,  who  suddenly  plunged  after  Sir  Roderick 
into  the  deep  waters  of  philosophy,  and,  her  thoughts 
wandering  to  certain  South  African  warriors,  ex- 
claimed, "  And  if  cowards  can  't  help  being  cowardly, 
brave  men  can  't  help  being  brave :  so  why  should 
we  praise  heroism?  " 

"  Very  well  put,  Miss  Hagley,"  said  Mr.  Han- 
cock. "  We  can  't  have  one  logic  for  our  virtues, 
and  another  logic  for  our  vices,  any  more  than  we 
can  have  one  law  for  the  rich,  and  another  law  for 
the  poor.  And  this  reminds  me  of  something  I 
should  like  to  ask  Mr.  Glanville.  He  presided  at  a 
dinner,  and  made  a  most  eloquent  speech,  in  honor 
of  Colonel  Grandison,  I  should  like  to  ask  him  — " 

But  Miss  Hagley  was  not  to  be  interrupted. 
"  And  look,"  she  continued,  "  just  look  at  Charley 
Langford,  and  the  way  in  which  he  stuck  to  the  girl 
he  was  engaged  to  marry,  when  everybody  tried  to 
make  out  that  she  'd  forged  a  cheque  —  which  she 
had  n't  done !  If  he  could  n't  have  helped  sticking 
to  her  — " 

"  Let  us  wait,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  who  had  been 


Theologians  in  Disguise  87 

on  the  point  of  rising,  "  and  hear  what  would  have 
happened.     My  dear,  finish  your  sentence." 

"  I  was  only  just  saying,"  said  Miss  Hagley,  in  a 
slightly  masculine  voice,  "  that  if  anybody  stuck  to 
me  when  I  was  in  a  tight  place,  simply  because  he 
could  n't  help  sticking  —  here,  Sir  Roderick,  be  a 
brick  and  pick  up  my  rather  dirty  glove  —  I  'd  as 
soon  think  of  saying  '  Thank  you  '  to  a  bit  of  old  cob- 
bler's wax." 


CHAPTER   IV 

£  TTIHAT  'S  a  damned  good  sort  of  girl,"  said  Sir 
A  Roderick  Harborough  to  Captain  Jeffries, 
settling  himself  down  by  him,  when  the  ladies  had 
left  the  room.  "She  gave  it  them  straight  that 
time.  I  'm  glad  she  's  coming  on  the  yacht  with  me. 
Never  sick  —  and  when  swimming  she  's  almost 
pretty.  What 's  this  8  Rupert's  old  Madeira  ?  It 's 
been  in  the  cellar,  so  he  tells  me,  for  seventy-five 
years." 

The  rest  of  the  gentlemen  had  meanwhile  rear- 
ranged themselves  also,  and,  leaving  Sir  Roderick  to 
discuss  with  Captain  Jeffries  the  mystery  of  a  well- 
bred  retriever  that  obstinately  refused  to  retrieve, 
prepared  as  they  filled  their  glasses  to  resume  the 
suspended  fray. 

"  You  were  asking  a  question,  Hancock,"  said 
Glanville,  "when  the  Muse  of  philosophy  inter- 
rupted you." 

"  I  was  only,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  going  to  tackle 
you  with  another  curious  statement  of  Dr.  Hudson's. 
He  told  me  that  Colonel  Grandison's  head  is  the  typi- 
cal head  of  a  soldier,  just  as  the  head  of  Mrs.  Masters 
is  the  typical  head  of  a  criminal.  Now  I  should  like 
just  to  ask  you — " 

"  Yes,"  said  Glanville,  laughing.  "  I  know  what 
it  is  quite  well.  If  I  believe  myself  justified  in  not 
blaming  a  born  blackguard — " 


Theologians  in  Disguise  89 

"  My  dear  Glanville,"  said  the  Bishop,  as  if  lie 
were  correcting  an  exercise,  "  you  are  running  away 
with  an  assumption.     No  man  is  born  a  blackguard." 

"  Very  well  then,"  said  Glanville,  "  let  us  say  a 
born  dipsomaniac.  If  I  believe  myself  justified  — 
and  this  belief  we  know  to  be  the  Bishop's  also  —  in 
not  blaming  a  born  dipsomaniac,  how  am  I  justified 
—  here  is  what  you  want  to  ask  me  —  in  consenting 
to  spout  in  public  the  praises  of  a  born  hero?  And 
I  am  bound  to  tell  you  that,  though  I  should  no 
doubt  repeat  the  proceeding,  I  can  make  no  reason- 
able defence  of  it.  All  our  moral  judgments, 
whether  of  praise  or  blame  are  equally  opposed  to 
everything  we  can  call  reason.  There  is  my  posi- 
tion.    Now  let  us  have  yours." 

The  Bishop's  face  as  he  heard  this  portentous 
avowal,  looked  as  though  sulphur  were  beginning  to 
burn  on  his  dessert-plate.  Mr.  Hancock's  reply, 
however,  did  something  to  soothe  him. 

"  I  'm  sure,  Bishop,"  he  said,  with  the  confident 
familiarity  of  a  successful  man  of  the  world,  "  you 
won 't  mind  my  answering  that  question  plainly. 
The  late  Queen,  the  last  time  I  was  at  Balmoral  " — 
Mr.  Hancock  omitted  to  state  that  the  last  time  was 
also  the  first  —  "  said  to  me,  '  Hancock,'  she  said, 
'  the  Bishop  of  Glastonbury  is  the  widest-minded  of 
all  my  bishops.  Well,  so  far  as  mere  evidence  goes, 
I  'm  free  to  confess  I  consider  Mr.  Glanville  right. 
As  a  mere  man  of  science,  or  as  a  strict  logician,  I 
can  't  for  the  life  of  me  see  at  what  point  freedom, 
or  responsibility,  or  moral  praise  and  blame,  find 
their  way  into  the  mechanism  of  human  existence. 
But  they  may  come  in  —  mind  you,  I  add  this  — 


90  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

they  may  come  in  some  way  of  which  we  know  noth- 
ing.    Theoretically  I  'm  agnostic  about  the  matter 

—  an  agnostic  pure  and  simple.  But  practically/' 
said  Mr.  Hancock,  extending  an  emphatic  hand, 
"  practically  —  this  is  a  very  different  pair  of  shoes 

—  I  say  that  whether  our  wills  are  really  free  or  not, 
we  're  bound  to  assume,  Bishop,  that  they  are  free, 
as  a  kind  of  working  hypothesis.  Everybody  at  this 
table  to-night,  excepting  Mr.  Glanville  himself,  has 
shown  that  what  I  call  this  working  hypothesis  of 
freedom  is  practically  instinctive  in  his  mind  or  hers : 
and  Mr.  Glanville,  as  I  very  shrewdly  suspect,  is  try- 
ing to  pull  our  legs  when  he  affects  to  think  differ- 
ently." 

"  I  do  n't  doubt  it,"  said  the  Bishop  drily.  "  Glan- 
ville, I  must  confess  I  utterly  fail  to  see  what  all 
this  discussion  is  driving  at.  To  play  at  turning  our 
most  sacred  beliefs  into  doubts  merely  for  the  sake 
of  reviving  them  under  the  name  of  working  hy- 
potheses seems  to  me  not  only  a  useless  but  also  a 
perilous  game." 

"  You  must  remember,"  said  Glanville,  "  that  to- 
night it  was  you  who  started  it,  by  saying  that  an 
hereditary  drunkard  cannot  morally  be  blamed  for 
drinking.  Some  of  us  may  be  born  drunkards,  but 
nobody  is  a  born  blackguard.  I  do  n't  say  myself 
that  both  statements  may  not  be  true.  I  only  say 
that  personally  I  am  not  able  to  reconcile  them." 

The  Bishop  sniffed  and  frowned.  "  If  you  really 
wished  it,"  he  said,  "  I  could  give  you  an  answer  now 

—  an  answer  in  a  few  sentences.  The  degree  to 
which  inherited  tendencies  interfere  with  the  free- 
dom of  the  will,  is  a  difficult  question,  I  grant  you, 


Theologians  in  Disguise  91 

solely,  however,  because  it  is  concerned  with  an  in- 
calculable variety  of  cases,  no  two  of  which  are  iden- 
tical: but  the  fact  of  our  underlying  freedom  is  no 
more  rendered  doubtful  by  such  cases  than  the  effi- 
cacy of  a  rudder  is  rendered  doubtful  by  the  violence 
of  typhoons  or  currents.  Consciousness  of  self," 
said  the  Bishop,  looking  round  him  to  see  if  his 
scholars  were  attentive,  "  as  we  all  know,  is  logically 
our  first  certainty  —  consciousness  of  self  as  a  single 
indissoluble  entity :  but  our  consciousness  of  freedom 
is  no  less  fundamental.  '  I  thmlc,  therefore  I  am ' 
may  be  equally  well  rendered  'I  will;  therefore  I 
am'  Ay,  Glanville,  and  wait,  for  I  am  going  a 
step  further.  With  equal  distinctness  we  are  con- 
scious of  one  thing  more  —  not  merely  that  we  exist, 
not  merely  that  we  will  freely,  but  that,  being  of  two 
courses  able  to  will  either,  we  are  under  an  obliga- 
tion to  a  lawgiver  higher  than  ourselves  freely  to 
will  the  one,  and  freely  to  reject  the  other.  There 
you  have  what  the  Americans  call  bed-rock,  the  in- 
dissoluble Self,  with  its  three  primary  attributes  — 
Existence,  Freedom,  and  Obligation.  In  these  three 
data  of  consciousness  you  have  natural  theology  in  a 
nutshell.  No  science,"  said  the  Bishop,  contemptu- 
ously flicking  away  a  few  profane  crumbs  which  had 
ventured  to  settle  on  his  apron,  "no  science  can 
touch  them." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  anxious  to  make  things 
pleasant,  "  I  must  congratulate  the  Bishop  on  an  ad- 
mirably lucid  statement.  If  we  can  't  all  of  us  quite 
go  with  him  theoretically,  we  all  go  with  him  practi- 
cally. Without  what  I  call  the  working  hypothesis 
of  freedom,  what,  as  Sir  Roderick  very  pertinently 


92  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

asked,  would  become  of  morality?  What  would  be- 
come of  religion?  What,  I  will  even  venture  to  add, 
would  become  of  business  enterprise?" 

"  And  you  may  ask  also,"  said  Lord  Kestormel,  in 
a  low  voice  to  Mr.  Hancock,  "  what  would  become 
of  love,  of  romance,  of  sentiment?  We  all  of  us 
remember  a  certain  poem  by  Sappho  —  I  Ve  no 
doubt  the  Bishop  has  birched  many  a  boy  for  not 
being  able  to  construe  it  " —  the  Bishop  here  began 
to  look  round  uneasily  —  "  in  which  she  describes  by 
its  signs  the  passion  that  has  made  her  famous.  We 
remember  the.  fire,  the  cold,  that  ran  through  her 
shuddering  body  —  the  dimmed  eyes,  the  confused 
humming  in  her  ears.  We  can  see  her  face  as  Swin- 
burne, her  magnificent  imitator,  describes  it  — 

'  White  as  dead  snow,  paler  than  grass  in  summer, 
Eavaged  with  kisses.' " 

The  Bishop's  face  at  these  words  underwent  a 
curious  change. 

"  Well,"  said  Lord  Kestormel,  totally  unconscious 
of  the  fact,  "  I  can  only  say  that  if  Sappho  had  no 
will  of  her  own  —  if  her  soul  was  nothing  more  than 
the  sum  of  her  nerves  and  tissues,  then  a  heart-ache 
means  no  more  than  a  stomach-ache:  and  not  only 
Sappho's  poetry,  but  all  the  love-poetry  in  the  world, 
is  not  poetry  at  all,  but  a  doctor's  diagnosis  in  metre." 

"  Do  n't  you  think,"  the  Bishop  said  to  Glanville, 
"that  this  room  is  getting  very  hot?  Sir  Roderick 
and  Captain  Jeffries  have  both  gone  to  the  window. 
Do  n't  let  me  disturb  you,  but  with  your  permission, 
I  '11  join  them." 

"By  all  means,"  said  Glanville.      "Have  your 


Theologians  in  Disguise  93 

coffee  outside.  You  will  find  coffee,  Roderick,  and 
everything  else,  on  the  terrace." 

"  Our  host,"  said  the  Bishop  to  Sir  Roderick,  as 
they  went  out  together  on  to  the  terrace,  "  has  been 
endowed  with  a  fine  intellect:  but  it  is  an  intellect 
gone  astray.  "Were  it  only  as  healthy  as  yours,  he  's 
a  man  of  whom  I  could  have  made  anything." 

Sir  Roderick  was  pleased  by  this  compliment,  but 
he  did  not  entirely  understand  it:  and  seeing  that 
Captain  Jeffries  had  overheard  it,  he  could  not  re- 
sist winking  at  him. 

As  soon  as  the  last  dark  flutter  of  the  Bishop's 
coat-tails  had  vanished,  the  party  at  the  dinner-table 
assumed  slightly  easier  attitudes. 

"I  think,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  indulging  himself 
in  a  smile  he  had  been  long  suppressing,  "  our  Right 
Reverend  friend  was  not  very  happy  in  his  apolo- 
getics. If  modern  scientific  psychology  shows  any- 
thing at  all,  there  ?s  nothing,  I  suppose,  it  shows  with 
more  absolute  plainness,  than  that  our  immediate 
consciousness  of  freedom  is  just  as  much  of  a  delu- 
sion as  what  we  once  took  for  our  consciousness  that 
the  sun  went  round  the  earth.  If  the  doctrines  of 
evolution  and  heredity  have  any  truth  in  them  what- 
ever —  and  even  bishops  do  n't  any  longer  reject 
them  —  there's  no  single  faculty  of  the  mind  whose 
purely  natural  pedigree  is  more  clearly  traceable  than 
the  natural  pedigree  of  conscience.  The  Bishop,  and 
all  his  brother  divines  with  him,  are  so  many  theolo- 
gical Sinbads.  They  mistake  a  fish  for  an  island: 
and  as  soon  as  they  light  their  fire  on  it,  what  they 
call  their  bed-rock  sinks." 

"  And  tell  me,  Mr.  Hancock,"  interposed  Seaton, 


94  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

for  the  first  time  joining  in  the  discussion,  "  does 
science  dissolve  our  consciousness  of  our  own  exist- 
ence as  completely  as  it  dissolves  our  consciousness 
of  obligation  and  freedom?  Or  is  it  good  enough  to 
leave  us  that  ?  " 

"  It  all  depends/'  said  Mr.  Hancock,  good-humor- 
edly,  "  on  what  we  mean  by  such  words  as  SELF  and 
WE  and  I.  If  you  mean  by  We  and  I  some  indis- 
soluble entity,  which  has  come  down  from  goodness 
knows  where,  as  the  Bishop  does,  science  dissolves 
our  consciousness  of  it  like  sugar  in  a  cup  of  tea.  It 
is  an  astonishing  thing  that  a  shrewd  man  like  the 
Bishop  should  be  content  to  base  the  convictions  of 
which  he  is  the  special  exponent,  on  arguments  which 
would  excite  the  laughter  of  any  clever  boy  in  a 
board-school. " 

"  He  merely,"  said  Glanville,  "  shares  the  fate  of 
all  our  clergy.  It 's  hard  to  blame  them.  They  are 
like  the  cashiers  of  a  bank  that  has  lost  its  assets,  and 
all  they  can  do  is  so  to  cook  the  accounts  that  the 
wretched  depositors  may  fancy  it  still  solvent. " 

"  You  're  still  at  it,  I  see,"  said  a  rich  lazy  voice, 
which  seemed  to  drag  heavily  under  a  load  of  slug- 
gish good  nature.  The  speaker  was  Captain  Jeffries. 
"  I  've  come,"  he  said,  "  to  ask  you  for  a  cigar.  I 
do  n't  want  to  interrupt  you.     It 's  a  cut  above  me 

—  this  discussion  of  yours.  All  the  same,"  he  con- 
tinued, sinking  into  a  chair,  "  I  thought  about  some- 
thing outside,  while  the  Bishop  was  prosing,  which 
reminded  me  of  what  was  said  at  dinner.  It 's  to 
do  with  dogs  and  horses.  You  know,  Kupert,  I 
can  't  say  I  go  with  you  —  not  altogether  —  anyhow 

—  in  what  you  said  just  now  about  Marcus.     What- 


Theologians  in  Disguise  95 

ever  else  a  man  can  't  help  doing,  I  maintain  that  a 
gentleman  can  help  cheating  at  cards.  But  I  've  had 
—  it 's  that  that  I  thought  I  should  like  to  tell  you  — 
I  've  had  hounds  that  were  born  wrong  'uns  —  it 's 
the  oddest  thing  in  the  world  —  surly  brutes  from 
the  very  day  they  were  littered.  The  rest  of  the 
pack  hated  them.  And  then  mares,  too  —  I  dare 
say  you  all  of  you  know  this  —  you  get  mares  some- 
times that  won  't  look  at  a  horse.  I  suppose  my 
wife,"  said  Captain  Jeffries,  exhibiting  an  opinion 
of  her  that  was  not  shared  by  his  intimates,  "  I  sup- 
pose if  they  were  women,  my  wife  would  look  on 
them  as  saints  and  have  a  service  in  honor  of  them. 
I  do  n't  think  she  'd  get  many  breeders  to  go  to  it. 
Well,  life  's  a  rum  thing.  Men  are  like  animals,  and 
animals  just  like  men.  After  all  —  be  a  good  fel- 
low, Kupert,  and  just  chuck  me  the  cigar-cutter  — 
after  all,  I  suppose  we  're  all  in  the  same  box.  If 
the  Bishop  could  prove  that  we  were  not  —  by  the 
way,  I  believe  he  's  proving  it  to  my  wife  now  —  if 
he  could  prove  it  to  me,  or  any  practical  racing  man, 
I  '11  tell  you  what  I  'd  do,  I  'd  bring  in  a  bill  in  the 
House  of  Commons  to  increase  his  salary  by  five 
thousand  a  year." 

When  the  seance  at  the  dinner-table  broke  up,  as 
it  did  presently,  and  those  who  had  assisted  at  it  made 
their  way  to  the  terrace,  Lord  Restormel  put  his  arm 
into  Glanville's  and  loitered  with  him  on  the  step  of 
the  window,  while  the  others  sought  the  portico,  on 
which  the  drawing-room  opened,  where  women's 
voices  were  murmuring  from  a  flower-bed  of  skirts 
and  draperies. 


96  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

"  God  bless  my  soul/'  exclaimed  Lord  Restormel, 
"  look  there." 

This  ejaculation  was  called  forth  by  the  spectacle 
of  two  figures  —  a  male  figure  and  a  female  —  which 
were  slowly  walking  past,  not  indeed  arm  in  arm,  but 
still  in  pleasing  propinquity.  The  male  figure  was 
tall,  and  its  hands  were  clasped  behind  it.  The 
Bishop's  voice  was  clear  —  the  male  figure  was  his 

—  and  as  he  went  slowly  by,  some  of  his  authorita- 
tive words  could  have  been  missed  by  no  one  who 
had  the  privilege  of  being  in  his  neighborhood, 
though  they  were  uttered  by  himself  for  the  benefit 
of  Mrs.  Jeffries  only. 

"  Scientific  difficulties,"  he  was  saying,  "  there  are 
none!  Those  who  tell  you  that  they  exist,  wish 
them  to  exist,  as  an  excuse  for  indulging  their  own/ 
unhallowed  passions.  But  though  science  has  no 
difficulties  for  belief,  life  has  many  for  the  believer; 
and  the  Mind  of  the  Church,  in  matters  both  of  faith 
and  conduct — " 

Here  to  Lord  Kestormel  and  Glanville  his  accents 
became  inaudible.  It  appeared  that  the  Bishop  had 
had,  however,  a  third  listener  also.  This  was  Mr. 
Brompton,  who  looking  for  a  dropped  handkerchief, 
had  been  seemingly  much  excited  by  what  he  had 
heard  and  seen. 

"  There  it  is,"  he  gasped.  "  Ah,  it 's  the  old,  old 
story.  Clericalism  —  clericalism  —  clericalism! 
Everything  would  be  so  clear  —  everything  so  grand 

—  so  glorious  —  if  only  the  world  would  free  itself 
from  this  nightmare  of  discipline  and  dogma.  After 
all,  Mr.  Glanville,  all  difficulties  spring  from  that." 

"  Come  here  both  of  you,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  as 


Theologians  in  Disguise  97 

Glanville  and  Lord  Restormel  approached.  "  Mr. 
Hancock  has  been  telling  us  of  all  your  arguments 
in  the  dining-room.  I  'm  glad,  Mr.  Glanville,  they 
had  driven  the  Bishop  away,  before  you  compared 
him  to  the  cashier  of  a  bank  that  has  lost  its  assets. 
Sit  down  and  attend.  We  've  a  little  plot  to  propose 
to  you.  Your  servants  have  brought  us  a  copy  of 
the  Ballyfergus  Examiner,  which  contains  three  col- 
umns about  these  impending  Conferences.  Well  — 
the  Bishop,  you  tell  me,  goes  away  in  Sir  Roderick's 
yacht,  and  Mrs.  Jeffries  too.  Is  Captain  Jeffries 
anywhere  near?  " 

"  He  's  there,"  said  Glanville,  "  seated  on  that  step. 
He  won't  hear  what  you  say.  By  the  shape  of  his 
back,  I  know  that  he  's  thinking  of  Newmarket." 

"  Well,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  what  we  were  go- 
ing to  suggest  was  this.  As  soon  as  the  orthodox 
party  have  left  us  more  or  less  to  ourselves,  why 
should  n't  we  havef  some  Conferences  here  on  our 
own  account?  and  talk  over  some  of  the  questions 
which  were  set  going  at  dinner?  I  mean  such  ques- 
tions as  that  of  the  origin  of  our  different  characters. 
That 's  a  question  which  in  itself  contains  almost 
everything,  from  the  meaning  of  our  belief  in  sci- 
ence to  the  extent  of  our  belief  in  the  Bible.  Why 
should  n't  we  put  these  subjects  in  some  sort  of  or- 
der, and  take  them  one  by  one,  like  our  clerical 
friends  at  Ballyfergus." 

"  The  Bible,"  echoed  the  voice  of  Captain  Jeffries 
sleepily,  as  roused  from  his  reverie  he  turned  himself 
partly  around.  "  We  're  told  now  that  it  was  writ- 
ten by  Ezra  or  Esdras.  It  was  n't  by  old  Moses  any- 
how.    I  've  been  thinking  about  those  dogs,  Rupert. 


98  The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

Well,  we  are  what  we  are,  and  there  's  an  end  of  it. 
I  see  you  've  provided  us  with  a  card-table.  I  think 
I  '11  try  if  I  can  't  get  up  a  rubber." 

"  Who,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  as  Captain  Jeffries 
moved  slowly  away,  "  can  doubt  the  spread  of  the 
higher  education,  after  that?  But  to  go  back  to 
what  you  were  saying,  you  and  I  and  Mr.  Hancock 
might  arrange  together  to-morrow  — " 

Here  she  lowered  her  voice  to  a  private  murmur : 
but  in  doing  so  she  disturbed  herself  by  rendering 
unintentionally  audible  an  elegant  confidence  of  Mrs. 
Harland's  to  Sir  Roderick  Harborough.  "  And  so 
I  said  to  Prince  Alexander  —  you  know,  Sir  Roder- 
ick, what  a  dear  he  is  —  c  It 's  very  kind  of  you,  Sir, 
to  take  such  trouble  for  a  poor  little  mouse  like  me.' 
But,  oh  Sir  Roderick,  what  I  do  wish  more  than  any- 
thing is  that  I  could  get  out  of  all  of  this,  and  be 
quite  simple  and  quiet  in  the  country." 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Harland,"  said  Lady  Snowdon, 
"  you  are  an  exceptionally  fortunate  woman.  The 
thing  which  of  all  things  you  most  want  to  do,  is  the 
thing  which  of  all  things  you  can  any  day  do  most 
easily." 

"  ]N"asty  cross  old  woman,"  murmured  Mrs.  Har- 
land to  Sir  Roderick.  "  I  'd  far  sooner  go  about 
with  a  sun-bonnet  on  my  head,  than  these."  And 
she  modestly  called  his  attention  to  a  cluster  of  dia- 
monds in  her  hair. 

Sir  Roderick,  who  was  not  without  a  certain  mis- 
chievous humor  looked  at  the  jewels  and  said,  "  I 
do  n't  see  why  you  need  be  ashamed  of  them.  They 
do  n't  pretend  to  be  striking,  but  they  're  quite 
enough  for  the  occasion." 


Theologians  in  Disguise  99 

Lady  Snowdon  had  resumed  meanwhile  her  sub- 
dued conversation  with  Glanville :  but  the  sounds  of 
other  voices  were  now  beginning  to  multiply,  and 
the  passing  and  repassing  of  feet,  either  seeking  cards 
or  avoiding  them,  made  her  presently  cut  it  short 
with  the  remark  that  she  and  Mrs.  Yernon  and  one 
or  two  choice  spirits  would  talk  the  whole  thing  over 
in  private  with  their  host  on  the  following  morning. 
"  And  now,"  she  went  on,  rising,  "  after  a  drive  of 
twenty-five  miles  —  I  do  n't  know  what  other  people 
may  be  going  to  do  —  but  I  'm  going  to  bed." 

Seaton  who  was  close  by,  with  a  look  of  relief,  rose 
also.  "  Kupert,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  follow  Lady  Snow- 
don's  example." 

"  Well,"  said  Glanville,  drawing  him  for  a  mo- 
ment aside,  "  was  n't  I  right.  Have  n't  you  heard 
enough  unconscious  theology  to-night  to  furnish  a 
Bampton  lecturer  with  materials  for  the  lucubrations 
of  a  life-time? " 


CHAPTEE   V 

LADY  SNOWDON  and  Glanville,  next  day,  an 
hour  or  so  after  breakfast,  were  slowly  stroll- 
ing together,  at  one  end  of  the  terrace ;  and  were  oc- 
casionally looking  back,  as  though  they  expected 
somebody  to  join  them. 

"  I  have  heard  as  much  discussion  of  this  sort  of 
thing  in  my  time  as  most  women,"  Lady  Snowdon 
was  saying,  "  and  for  the  majority  of  people  the  re- 
ligious question  still  is,  as  it  was  in  my  young  days, 
two  questions.  One  is  the  question  of  whether  the 
Christian  religion,  with  all  its  miraculous  history,  is 
really  a  unique  revelation  of  the  Deity  to  the  human 
soul.  The  other  is  the  question  of  whether  a  Deity 
and  a  soul  exist,  by  whom  a  revelation  of  any  kind 
could  be  either  received  or  made.  Well,  logically  — 
you  must  excuse  a  woman  for  talking  about  logic  — 
we  ought  to  discuss  the  last  of  these  two  questions 
first.  But,  my  dear  Glanville,  most  people  are  not 
logical :  and  in  this  case  I  do  n't  blame  them.  When 
they  are  told  that  science  is  in  conflict  with  religion 
in  general  the  question  which  naturally  engages  their 
attention  first,  is  how  far  it  is  fatal  to  the  one  re- 
ligion they  are  familiar  with  —  the  mythology  which 
has  thus  far  been  a  buffer  between  themselves  and 
scientific  reality." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right,"  said  Glanville.  "  Yes, 
even  a  man  like  Huxley  felt  when  he  was  attacking 


Theologians  in  Disguise         ioi 

what  he  honestly  condemned  as  a  superstition,  that 
he  was  turning  a  wife  out  of  doors,  whom  he  would 
miss  though  he  found  her  intolerable.  He  would 
rid  himself  of  an  ignorant  shrew,  but  he  would  be  left 
with  an  empty  chair." 

"  Exactly,"  Lady  Snowdon  assented.  "  And  now 
I  'm  coming  to  my  point.  I  think  that  in  these  con- 
ferences of  ours,  it  will  be  best  to  make  a  beginning 
by  following  the  example  of  Ballyfergus,  and  start 
with  considering  what  is  our  real  attitude,  not  to- 
wards religion  in  general  —  whatever  that  may  mean 
—  but  towards  the  Christian  version  of  it  —  which 
you  and  I  admit  to  be  mere  mythology,  but  which 
most  people  regard  in  a  way  which  they  can  ?t  explain 
even  to  themselves.  To  dissect  their  condition  will 
be  a  very  curious  exercise.  There  's  my  niece,  Juliet 
Yernon.  She  's  a  case  in  point.  Juliet 's  a  clever 
woman  —  quick  and  sharp  as  a  needle.  She  never 
goes  to  Church  except  now  and  then  to  the  Chapel 
Koyal.  She  delights  in  the  company  of  men  of  ad- 
vanced opinions.  I  dined  with  her  in  London  the 
other  day  —  a  little  dinner  of  four  —  to  meet  Mr. 
Cosmo  Brock.  She  tried  to  set  her  prize  at  ease  be- 
fore he  had  eaten  his  soup  by  telling  him  that  of 
course  in  these  days  we  none  of  us  believe  in 
miracles;  and  yet,  if  I  may  betray  a  secret,  she  al- 
ways has  a  Bible  by  her  bed,  and  reads  as  a  kind  of 
charm  a  few  verses  every  night.  She  used  to  keep 
an  invitation-card  of  Lady  Croydon's  amongst  the 
Psalms  as  a  marker.  But  hush/'  said  Lady  Snowdon, 
"  here  she  is  at  last,  and  our  other  conspirators  with 
her." 

"I  do  hope,"  said  Mrs.  Yernon,  who  was  accom- 


102        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

panied  by  Mr.  Hancock  and  Lord  Restormel,  "  that  I 
nave  n't  kept  you  waiting.  I  could  n't  get  my  maid: 
and  I  need  n't  tell  you  that  the  only  pair  of  boots  I 
wanted  was  the  only  pair  not  in  my  bed-room. 
You  said,  Mr.  Glanville,  you  'd  take  us  to  a  certain 
secluded  summer-house,  where  we  sha  n't  be  inter- 
rupted either  by  bishops  or  by  Mrs.  Harlands." 

"  Mrs.  Harland's  father,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  as 
they  were  proceeding  towards  the  retreat  in  ques- 
tion, "was  a  furniture-dealer  in  Liverpool.  Our 
dining-room  carpet  came  from  him.  When  I  think 
of  what  society  is  becoming,  I  feel  glad  that  I  'm  at 
the  end  of  life  instead  of  the  beginning  of  it:  and 
this,  my  dear  Mr.  Glanville,"  she  added,  turning 
gently  round  to  him,  "  is  perhaps  the  reason  why  I 
look  calmly  at  many  things.  But  Mrs.  Harland  pos- 
sibly is  a  lady  for  whom  you  feel  a  great  admira- 
tion." 

"  She  's  Roderick's  friend,  not  mine,"  said  Glan- 
ville. She  probably  thinks  it  a  great  condescension 
to  come  here.  I  wonder  what  view  of  the  universe 
Mrs.  Harland  considers  the  smartest.  "Well,  here  's 
the  summer-house:  and  now  let  us  get  to  business." 

"  I  always  feel,"  said  Lady  Snowdon  seating  her- 
self, and  producing  some  knitting  —  a  species  of 
work  which  she  cultivated  as  a  means  of  rebuking 
idleness  rather  than  as  a  practice  of  industry  —  "that 
a  woman  of  Mrs.  Harland's  antecedents,  who  is  try- 
ing to  be  what  she  calls  smart,  is  the  only  one  of 
God's  creatures  absolutely  past  praying  for.  Now, 
Mr.  Glanville  begin,  and  explain  it  all  to  Juliet.  Of 
course,  my  dear,  you  understand  generally  what  it 
is  that  we  propose  to  do." 


Theologians  in  Disguise         103 

"  Perfectly,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  impatient  of  her 
aunt's  patronage.  "Nothing  could  be  more  inter- 
esting. I  'm  sure  we  all  of  us  feel  as  if  everything 
were  turned  upside  down.  Monkeys  were  our  great- 
grandfathers—  nobody  doubts  that.  Animals  and 
plants  come  all  from  the  same  protoplasm:  and  parts 
of  the  Bible  were  written  three  centuries  after 
Christ.  Isn't  that  so?  I'm  not  quite  sure  of  my 
dates.  And  then  of  course,  there  is  variation,  and 
struggle  and  survival  —  so  totally  different  from 
one's  old  idea  of  design.  All  of  us  agree,  I  suppose, 
that  there  must  be  a  God  of  some  sort,  and  that  we 
are  free  somehow  to  do  either  right  or  wrong.  But 
really  at  times  one  hardly  knows  where  one  is :  and 
I,  for  one,  should  be  very  glad  to  be  shown." 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Vernon,"  said  Glanville,  "  to  put  the 
matter  shortly  —  here,  Hancock,  can  you  lend  me 
a  scrap  of  paper,  and  I  '11  jot  it  down  —  the  ques- 
tions before  us  are  three.  Here  's  the  first.  Since 
we  have  most  of  us  been  accustomed  to  identify  re- 
ligion with  Christianity,  and  since  the  Churches 
themselves  even  agree  that  many  Christian  doctrines 
are,  in  their  old  sense,  no  longer  believable,  how 
many  do  we  believe  still,  or  do  we  believe  any?  If 
we  find  that  we  still  believe  some,  and  that  these  are 
sufficient  for  our  needs,  our  second  and  third  ques- 
tions will  then  seem  almost  superfluous:  but  if  we 
find  that  science  has  made  a  clean  sweep  of  the  whole 
of  this  particular  revelation,  and  all  other  revela- 
tions also  —  for  we  shan't  reject  Christianity  in  or- 
der to  become  Mahometans  —  we  shall  come  to  our 
second  question :  and  our  second  question  will  be  this. 
Will  the  Science  which  prevents  our  accepting  any 


104        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

one  religion  in  particular  give  us  any  ground  for  re- 
taining those  general  hopes  and  feelings  which  all 
religions  share  as  their  common  and  inmost  essence? 
You  see  that,  do  n't  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  you  have  made  it  per- 
fectly plain.  Surely  even  to  Christians  that  ques- 
tion would  be  interesting." 

"  And  now/'  said  Glanville,  "for  question  three.  If 
science  does  afford  us  a  foundation  for  a  religion  of 
some  kind,  we  must  ask  in  what  practical  form  such 
a  religion  can  express  itself?  What  will  it  tell  us 
to  believe,  and  hope  and  do?  In  dealing  with  this 
question  we  shall  have  something  definite  to  go  upon; 
for  all  the  attempts  that  have  been  made  to  give  us 
the  thing  wanted  are  reducible  to  two  or  three 
marked  kinds:  and  there  are  two  members  of  our 
party  who  will  be  delighted  to  put  them  before  us  — 
Mr.  Brompton,  and  my  friend  Seaton.  If  we  should 
end  by  finding  any  one  of  them  satisfactory,  then  our 
enquiry  will  for  us  have  come  to  a  happy  close.  But 
if  on  the  other  hand  we  find  that  these  attempts  are 
nonsense  and  that,  though  it  is  easy  to  discredit 
Christianity,  it  is  hard  to  devise  a  substitute  for  it, 
then—" 

"  Yes,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  and  then?  " 

"  Then,"  said  Glanville,  "  I  propose  to  introduce  to 
your  notice  a  fourth  question  —  or  a  fourth  set  of 
considerations  which  may,  perhaps,  aid  in  helping 
us.  I  '11  keep  these  till  we  see  if  they  're  wanted. 
And  now  tell  me  what  you  think  of  our  Syllabus." 

"  I  do  n't  quite  understand,"  said  Mrs.  Yernon, 
"  your  mysterious  hints  at  the  end,  but  your  first 
three  questions,  though  you  have  arranged  them  bet- 


Theologians  in  Disguise        105 

ter  than  I  could  have  done,  are  the  questions  with 
which  everybody,  it  seems  to  me,  is  occupied  more 
or  less;  and  it  really  will  be  delightful  to  discuss 
them  here.  In  London,  you  see,  there  's  no  time. 
People  are  always  forcing  us  to  parties;  and  then 
it 's  so  difficult  to  get  the  right  people  together." 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  Glanville,"  said  Mr.  Hancock. 
"  Will  you  let  me  be  secretary  to  the  conference,  and 
get  these  notes  of  yours  into  some  sort  of  tidy  order? 
For  instance,  as  to  question  one,  it  might  be  made  to 
run  something  like  this,  and  would  help  us  to  keep  to 
the  point.  '  Whereas,  till  so  lately  as  fifty  years  ago, 
nine  tenths  of  the  civilized  world  accepted  Christ- 
ianity ' —  I  ought  to  put  miraculous  Christianity  — 
'  as  indubitable,  and  never  even  took  the  trouble  to 
call  its  fundamentals  in  question,  why  is  it  that  to- 
day for  educated  men  and  women,  it  has  become  as 
much  of  a  fable  as  the  religion  of  Odin  or  Jupi- 
ter ?'" 

Mrs.  Yernon  started  and  looked  with  indignation 
at  Mr.  Hancock,  who  was  scratching  one  of  his  whis- 
kers with  the  tip  of  a  gold  pencil-case. 

"  I  must  protest,"  she  said,  "  that  your  assumptions 
are  a  little  too  sweeping.  ISTo  doubt  we  do  n't  be- 
lieve some  things  that  our  fathers  did.  But  to  lay 
it  down,  in  this  airy  way,  that  we  reject  Christianity 
altogether  —  well,  it  simply  is  not  true." 

"  May  I  ask  then,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  slightly  net- 
tled, "  what  part  of  it  you  accept?  " 

"  That 's  hardly  a  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Yernon,  with 
a  shrinking  stiffness,  "  that  one  cares  to  talk  of  in 
public." 

"  Then,  my  dear,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  we  had 


106        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

better  give  up  our  conferences  altogether,  because 
it 's  precisely  the  thing  that  we  are  all  of  us  propos- 
ing to  discuss." 

"  I  did  n't  mean  that,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon  hastily 
recollecting  herself.  "  I  only  mean  that  Mr.  Han- 
cock, when  he  says  certain  things  should  speak  for 
himself  alone." 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Mr.  Hancock.  "  It 's  only  a 
matter  of  expression.  I'  11  take  care  that  we  soften 
it  all  down." 

"  And  when  do  you  think,"  said  Mrs.  Yernon,  who 
had  now  recovered  her  equanimity,  and  was  anxious 
to  correct  the  impression  that  she  was  in  any  way 
behind  the  times,  "  when  do  you  think,  Mr.  Glanville, 
that  our  Synod  may  begin  its  sittings?  " 

"As  to"  that,"  replied  Glanville,  "I've  a  little 
communication  to  make  to  you.  We  can't  begin 
till  the  Bishop  and  Sir  Koderick's  party  have  gone. 
They  were  to  have  gone  this  evening,  as  the  Bishop 
is  engaged  to  preach  to-morrow  at  Ballyfergus:  but 
Roderick  has  just  had  a  telegram  saying  that  one  of 
his  yellow-haired  ladies,  with  whom  he  has  had  a 
quarrel,  has  appeared  at  the  hotel  there,  threatening 
to  board  his  yacht  —  with  which  indeed  she  's  fa- 
miliar —  and  probably  ensconce  herself  in  the  cabin 
set  apart  for  the  Bishop.  Roderick  knows  how  to 
manage  her,  and  he  's  just  gone  off  in  my  steam 
launch  to  do  so.  But  he  won  't  be  able,  he  's  afraid, 
to  make  a  start  till  to-morrow.  So  what  we  've  ar- 
ranged is  this.  The  launch  will  take  him  and  the 
Bishop,  the  first  thing  to-morrow,  to  Ballyfergus,  and 
Roderick  will  return  with  his  yacht  and  pick  up  his 


Theologians  in  Disguise        107 

party  by  moonlight.  "Well  —  an  hour  or  two  ago, 
when  I  was  settling  this  with  the  Bishop,  I  told  him 
that  if  he  could  only  have  stayed  over  Sunday,  I 
would  have  begged  him  to  preach  —  for  there  's  serv- 
ice in  the  church  in  the  garden:  and  he  seemed  so 
disappointed  at  not  being  able  to  do  so,  that  I  asked 
him  if  he  would  read  prayers  and  give  us  a  few  words 
to-night.  I  know  he  's  longing  to  be  down  on  what 
he  thinks  is  our  amateur  scepticism.  But  I  fear 
that  is  not  quite  all.     He  ought  to  be  interesting." 

"  Very  much  so,"  said  Lord  Restormel. 

"  And  then,"  resumed  Glanville,  "  I  fear  I  have 
not  done  yet.  I  've  provided  you  also  for  to-mor- 
row, which  I  hope  you  do  n't  forget  is  Sunday,  with 
two  preachers  besides,  who  are  both  of  them,  like  the 
Bishop  himself,  to  play  prominent  parts  in  the  great 
Ballyfergus  Conference ;  so  we  shall  not  be  able  to 
open  our  own  till  Monday.  I  hope  you  do  n't  mind 
hearing  them.     I  think  they  may  prove  interesting." 

"  Very  much  so,"  said  Lord  Restormel.  "  As 
we  're  going  to  begin  with  discussing  the  Christian 
religion  ourselves,  it  will  be  well  to  have  before  us 
the  latest  authorized  expositions  of  it." 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Glanville,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon, 
"  may  I  take  the  opportunity  of  telling  you  that  this 
morning  I  've  heard  from  a  niece  of  mine  — 
Stephanie  Leighton,  who  's  finishing  a  rest-cure  at 
Ballyfergus.  She  is  charming  and  very  intelligent. 
Do  you  think  you  would  let  me  ask  her  over  here  for 
a  day  or  two?  " 

"  By  all  means,"  replied  Glanville.  "  My  impres- 
sion is  that  I  've  met  her,  and  have  experienced  her 


io8        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

charm  and  discovered  her  intelligence  already. 
We  '11  arrange  about  that  presently.  Meanwhile, 
till  the  Bishop  wakes  us  up  to-night,  we  may  give 
our  souls  a  rest:  and  as  Eoderick  has  got  the  launch, 
we  will  go  in  the  afternoon  for  a  drive." 


BOOK  III 
The  Church  to  the  World 


CHAPTER    I 

THE  projected  expedition  took  place  successfully: 
and  when  the  party  returned,  Sir  Roderick 
was  strutting  on  the  terrace,  and  holding  a  cigar  in 
his  mouth  at  an  angle  so  peculiarly  rakish  as  to  show 
that  his  own  expedition  had  been  crowned  with  suc- 
cess also.  The  lady,  as  he  confided  to  Glanville,  had 
been  pacified  by  a  "  cheque  for  two  hundred  " :  and 
was  indeed  at  that  moment  on  her  way  back  to  Eng- 
land, observing  to  the  tips  of  her  varnished  boots  in 
the  railway-carriage  that  "  the  old  boy  was  not  a 
bad  sort  after  all." 

Sir  Roderick's  good  humor  was,  in  consequence, 
so  great  that,  combined  with  his  natural  and  essen- 
tially conservative  devoutness,  it  made  him  perfectly 
willing  to  be  present  at  the  Bishop's  ministrations, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  his  rubber  was  thereby  post- 
poned: and  nobody  when,  the  dining-room  having 
been  prepared  for  worship  at  ten,  the  Bishop  pro- 
ceeded to  read  a  selection  of  simple  prayers,  uttered 
an  Amen  more  full  of  a  Briton's  faith  than  he  did. 
The  Bishop,  on  this  occasion,  showed  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage.     His  obvious  and  complete  sincerity  ap- 

109 


no        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

pealed  strongly  to  everyone:  and  even  Captain  Jef- 
fries who,  propped  against  a  mahogany  chair,  had 
been  counting  the  cracks  in  the  red  leather  of  its 
cushion,  found  himself  muttering,  "  He 's  a  good 
chap,  that  —  whatever  he  is." 

When  the  company  rose,  however,  and  found  by 
the  time  they  had  seated  themselves,  the  Bishop 
standing  erect  like  a  narrow  tower,  with  two  of  his 
fingers  resting  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  the  impres- 
sion produced  by  him  underwent  a  subtle  change. 
His  manner  was  now  that,  not  of  a  suppliant,  but  of 
a  master  —  a  master  austerely  solicitous  for  the  good 
of  his  erring  children. 

"  I  am,"  he  began  quietly,  "  not  going  to  preach 
you  a  sermon.  I  am  merely  going  to  talk  to  you  on 
certain  serious  subjects  at  rather  more  length  than 
ordinary  conversation  would  permit  of.  I  may  dis- 
pense, therefore,  with  the  formality  of  a  text :  or  — 
if  you  wish  for  one  —  let  me  tell  you  what  my  text 
shall  be.  It  shall  be  the  conversation  which  in  this 
very  room,  sprang  up  last  night  about  that  tremen- 
dous subject  —  though  that  is  not  the  point  about 
which  I  mainly  desire  to  speak  to  you  —  freedom 
and  moral  responsibility. 

"  Eow  I  confess  that  the  interest  which  this  sub- 
ject excited,  moved  me  very  deeply,  because  it 
showed  how  when  two  or  three  are  gathered  together 
even  for  ordinary  social  intercourse,  God  or  thoughts 
of  God  are  there  inevitably  in  the  midst  of  them. 
At  the  same  time,"  continued  the  Bishop,  slightly 
rapping  the  table  in  the  manner  which  suggested 
that  there  might  possibly  be  a  birch  under  it,  "  it 
seemed  to  me  —  I  must  say  this  fearlessly  —  that 


The  Church  to  the  World      in 

the  very  principle  of  moral  responsibility  —  in  other 
words,  of  all  religion  was  lightly  questioned  by  some 
of  you.  There  are  excuses  for  such  levity,  which  is 
alas  too  common  —  and  I  know  what  the  excuses 
are.  They  consist  in  the  passing  prevalence  of  ideas 
which  call  themselves  scientific,  but  which,  even 
when  not  individually  false,  are  merely  fragments  of 
science  perversely  torn  from  the  text,  and  accepted 
at  a  false  valuation  —  shall  I  tell  you  why?  because 
they  minister  to  two  things  —  to  man's  love  of  self 
and  to  his  concupiscence.  All  ministers  of  the  Gos- 
pel will  tell  you  that.  However  widely  Christian 
apologists  may  differ,  they  are  all  unanimous  here  — 
even  if  here  only." 

Mrs.  Jeffries  here  smiled  slightly,  and  fixed  her 
eyes  on  her  lap.  Mrs.  Harland,  who  hoped  that  Sir 
Roderick  was  admiring  her  neck  and  shoulders, 
turned  round  to  see  if  this  was  so,  and  whispered  to 
him,  "  Is  n't  it  interesting?  " 

"  It  is  man's  selfishness  and  his  passions,"  resumed 
the  Bishop,  "  believe  me,  and  not  true  science  that 
we  have  to  deal  with.  As  to  the  alleged  conflict, 
therefore,  between  science  and  religion  in  general 
—  natural  religion,  as  we  call  it  —  I  shall  say  very 
little.  What  I  am  going  to  say,  I  said  last  night  at 
dinner.  It  took  me  one  minute  to  say  it  then:  I 
shall  now  give  myself  two,  and  will  put  it  in  a  slightly 
different  form.  What  is  the  net  result,  then,  of  this 
science  falsely  so  called?  What  is  the  net  result, 
for  instance,  of  the  labored  lucubrations  of  Mr. 
Cosmo  Brock?  This  —  that  all  existence  is  simply 
one  vast  self-acting  machine,  of  which  metals,  gases, 
fungi,  apes,  and  the  mind  of  man,  are  so  many  wheels 


U2        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

or  levers,  differently  shaped  indeed,  but  made  of  the 
same  substance,  and  passive  under  the  same  impulse. 
But  consider  this  flimsy  theory  in  the  light  of  true 
science  itself.  Test  it  by  the  three  great  admissions 
which  men  of  science  themselves  willingly  or  un- 
willingly make.  Ay,  test  it  by  these.  These  basic 
admissions  are  as  follows.  Firstly,  the  Universe,  as 
we  know,  being  the  product  of  matter  and  energy, 
between  the  dead  matter  and  the  energy  that  moves 
and  directs  it,  the  gulf  is  infinite  and  impassable. 
Secondly,  the  Universe  consisting  of  lifeless  things 
and  living,  between  the  lifeless  things  and  the  very 
beginnings  of  organic  life  the  gulf  is  infinite  and  im- 
passable. Thirdly,  between  organic  life  however 
highly  evolved  and  the  human  soul  the  gulf  is  in- 
finite and  impassable.  Physics  teaches  us  the  first  of 
these  facts.  Biology  teaches  us  the  second.  Scien- 
tific psychology  absolutely  demonstrates  the  third. 
Thus  in  the  scheme  of  nature  there  are  three  gaps 
or  voids ;  and  these  voids  are  the  foundation  of  our 
sure  and  eternal  hope. 

"  So  much  then,  for  so-called  science,  as  destructive 
of  natural  religion.  True  science,  as  we  have  seen, 
instead  of  destroying  such  religion,  gives  us  its  gen- 
eral features  in  strokes  which  though  few  are  un- 
mistakable. It  gives  us,  as  it  were,  a  grand  charcoal 
sketch  of  the  moral  human  soul  and  a  moral  God  by 
whom  alone  such  a  human  soul  could  have  been 
created.  But  between  these  two  we  find  there  is  one 
gap  more.  Man  discerns  God  unmistakably,  but  dis- 
cerns Him  afar  off:  and  his  consciousness  of  union 
with  Him  is  accompanied  by  a  bewildered  sense  of 
separation.     He  cries  therefore  to  Him,  as  a  loving 


The  Chnrch  to  the  World       113 

and  lost  son  to  a  father.  Since,  however,  God  loves 
infinitely  every  human  soul  —  since  the  salvation  of 
every  human  soul  born  since  the  days  of  Adam  is  of 
infinitely  more  consequence  to  Him  than  all  the 
courses  of  the  stars  —  common  sense  tells  us  that  He 
could  not  have  left  these  souls  desolate,  begging  in 
vain  to  reach  Him  and  know  His  will.  He  must, 
with  reverence  be  it  spoken,  have  made  some  direct 
response  to  them.  That  response  is  Revelation:  and 
it  is  recorded  for  us  in  two  places  —  firstly  in  the 
Bible,  and  secondly  in  the  life  of  the  Church  from  its 
earliest  days  to  these." 

"  Well  then,  so  much  being  admitted,  we  approach 
the  point  on  which  I  really  wish  to  address  you,  and 
which  may,  with  some  show  of  reason  be  called  a 
special  difficulty  of  to-day.  Science,  history, 
scholarship  —  many  people  are  saying  this  —  show 
us  that  the  Bible  is  untrue:  and  if  untrue,  it  cannot 
have  been  inspired.  It  is  a  shallow  argument,  but  it 
yet  deserves  to  be  met.  After  all,  then,  let  us  ask, 
what  does  it  really  come  to?  Merely  to  this  —  that 
the  Bible  does  not  teach  us  strictly  accurate  science, 
that  the  Bible  does  not  teach  us  strictly  accurate 
history,  that  it  does  not  always  teach  us  strictly  cor- 
rect morality.  It  was  never  meant  to  teach  us 
strictly  accurate  science.  It  was  never  meant  to 
teach  us  strictly  accurate  history.  It  was  never 
meant  —  at  least  —  well  in  a  great  many  of  its 
books,  to  teach  us  correct  morality.  It  was  never 
meant,  in  fact  as  the  late  Dean  of  Canterbury  has 
nobly  contended,  to  teach  us  anything  that  we  could 
prove  or  disprove  or  find  out  for  ourselves.  This  is 
the  supreme  criticism  which  God  has  specially  com- 


U4        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

missioned  the  English  Church  to  make.  But  this 
new  perception  of  ours  of  the  sense  in  which  the 
Bible  is  not  inspired  does  but  serve  to  bring  out  in  a 
new  and  fuller  light,  the  sense  in  which  it  really  is 
so.     Let  me  make  my  meaning  plain." 

"  Though  we  are  learning  by  science  and  scholar- 
ship—  which  are  also  God's  Revelation  —  that  a 
literal  interpretation  of  many  parts  of  God's  book 
would  grievously  dishonor  Him,  that  Book  still  re- 
mains, as  a  whole,  God's  great  epic  of  Redemption 
—  a  Book  so  richly  composite  that  it  contains  mat- 
ter which  is  purely  legendary  —  matter  which  is  ap- 
proximately and  sometimes  really  historical  —  mat- 
ter which  is  barbarously  immoral,  and  which  has  been 
included  in  the  sacred  pages  by  a  typical  Divine 
Economy  in  order  to  bring  into  relief  the  unap- 
proachable divinity  of  the  rest  —  matter  which  is  in 
its  tenor  uniquely  and  sublimely  edifying  —  and 
lastly  matter  which  is  in  the  strictest  sense  inspired, 
and  must  be  interpreted  by  an  exegesis  of  the  very 
words  and  syllables  of  the  original.  To  show  you 
how  differently  these  various  elements  must  be 
treated,  it  will  be  enough  to  take  two  examples.  It 
will  be  perfectly  obvious,"  said  the  Bishop,  "  to  any 
candid  reader  that  the  opening  of  the  Book  of  Gene- 
sis was  never  meant  to  tell  us  anything  definite  about 
the  creation  of  the  world  and  of  life.  Whatever  the 
writer  meant,  he  meant  something  very  different 
from  what  he  said.  It  is  true  that  even  here  there 
are  some  statements  which  seem  to  anticipate  roughly 
whatever  there  is  of  truth  in  the  modern  doctrine  of 
evolution:  and  these  were  doubtless  written  by  the 
very  finger  of  the  Eternal  Himself:  but  the  docu- 


The  Church  to  the  World       115 

ment  as  a  whole  merely  tells  us  in  a  general,  but 
authoritative  way,  that  God  made  man  perfect,  that 
man  refused  to  remain  so,  and  that  thus  his  future 
redemption  became  a  divine  necessity.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  whilst  the  great  first  Book  of  the  Bible 
may  be  taken,  within  limits,  to  mean  almost  anything 
we  please,  there  occurs  in  the  New  Testament  a  sin- 
gle and  isolated  word,  on  whose  strict  philological 
meaning  one  of  the  most  relieving  and  renovating 
confidences  of  the  Christian  Church  depends.  This 
is  the  Greek  word  '  aeonian '  as  applied  to  the  pains 
of  Hell.  Till  a  few  years  ago  the  word  '  seonian ' 
was  universally  interpreted  as  meaning  i  eternal '  or 
'  everlasting  ' :  but  we  now  know  by  the  light  of  mod- 
ern spiritual  criticism,  that  it  means  merely  '  for  a 
very  considerable  time,'  or  perhaps  merely  '  for  a 
time  that  will  seem  considerable  to  the  sufferer.' 

"  Well,"  continued  the  Bishop,  "  so  far  the  case  is 
simple.  The  answer  to  the  doubter  is  complete. 
The  only  remaining  perplexity  emerges  into  light 
here :  and  it  is  this  difficulty  that  I  am  now  going  to 
meet. 

"  Since  the  Bible  is,  as  I  have  said,  a  Book  so 
richly  composite,  it  will  be  asked  —  it  is  sure  to  be 
asked  —  it  must  be  asked  —  by  what  human  test  its 
diverse  elements  are  to  be  distinguished,  so  that  we 
may  pick  out  the  words  and  sentences  whose  meaning 
is  to  be  taken  literally  —  such,  for  example,  as  the 
accounts  of  the  Kesurrection  and  Ascension  —  from 
whole  books  whose  literal  meaning  may  be  disre- 
garded with  the  most  reverent  freedom.  Yes,  here 
is  the  question  on  the  true  answer  to  which  I  desire 
to  insist  to-night.     The  test  of  what  is  inspired  in  the 


n6        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

Bible  and  what  is  not  —  on  which  test  naturally  the 
whole  authority  of  the  Volume  depends  —  is  not  to 
be  found  in  any  human  faculty  at  all,  but  in  the  di- 
vinely guided  consciousness  of  corporate  Christen- 
dom —  or,  in  other  words,  in  the  Mind  of  the 
Church.  And  now  let  me  explain  to  you  precisely 
what  the  Mind  of  the  Church  is.  Christianity  is  like 
a  grain  of  mustard-seed  not  only  in  the  sense  that 
its  adherents  are  to  grow  numerically,  till  they  in- 
clude, as  they  will  ere  long  the  inhabitants  of  the 
whole  world;  but  also  in  the  sense  that,  as  the  cen- 
turies roll  on,  its  true  meaning  grows  clearer  to  each 
generation  of  Christians.  Hence  the  Church  knows 
to-day  what  it  hardly  knew  even  fifteen  years  ago, 
that  an  eternal  Hell  would  be  inconsistent  with 
God's  goodness:  and  it  finds,  in  the  light  of  this 
knowledge,  the  diamond-glint  of  an  inspired  adjec- 
tive, which  proves  that  God  in  His  Gospel  had  long 
ago  revealed  this  fact  to  us.  And  if,"  said  the 
Bishop,  his  voice  rising  somewhat,  "  you  ask  me  how 
we  are  to  distinguish  what  the  Mind  of  the  Church 
tells  us,  seeing  that  the  separate  Churches  resemble 
the  inspired  Scriptures  in  the  multitude  of  their  con- 
flicting errors,  I  answer  that  those  doctrines  are 
ratified  by  the  Mind  of  the  Church  —  such  for  in- 
stance as  the  miraculous  birth,  and  the  corporeal 
Ascension  of  the  Lord  —  with  regard  to  which  all 
provinces  of  Christ's  Kingdom  agree  —  not  each 
province  separately,  such  as  the  Eoman,  the  Greek, 
the  North  German,  the  English  —  but  all.  At  pres- 
ent no  doubt,  this  great  and  illuminating  truth  is 
consciously  apprehended  within  the  English  Church 
only:  but  in  God's  own  time  it  will  spread.     'It 


The  Church  to  the  World       117 

must/ —  if  I  may  quote  the  words  of  Archdeacon 
Wilberf orce  —  words  which  echoed  through  the 
arches  of  our  grand  national  Abbey  — '  have  cost 
God  much  to  have  kept  the  secret  of  redemption 
down  the  ages,  and  suffered  men  meanwhile  to  think 
so  erringly  about  Himself:  but  the  great  purpose  was 
in  God's  heart  all  the  while  —  a  purpose  which  He 
had  kept  hidden  from  the  very  foundation  of  the 
world.'  What  a  complete  answer  this,"  exclaimed 
the  Bishop,  "  to  all  the  objections  of  the  rationalist, 
as  applied  generally  to  the  sublime  scheme  of  re- 
demption !  I  may  add  myself,"  he  went  on,  "  that 
it  must  have  cost  God  much  also  to  have  confined  His 
earlier  revelation  to  Abraham  and  his  descendants, 
and  deliberately  have  shut  out  the  remainder  of  his 
beloved  children  from  participation  in  it.  "Well  — 
it  is  surely  no  more  wonderful  that  the  English 
Church  should  at  present  be  alone  in  understanding 
the  foundation  on  which  our  faith  rests,  than  that 
a  small,  ungrateful  and  rebellious  tribe  like  the  Jews, 
should  for  ages  have  been  the  exclusive  recipients  of 
God's  gift  of  Eevelation.  But  God  never  hurries. 
He  has  all  Eternity  before  Him,  in  which  to  work 
out  His  plans.  And  meanwhile,  let  us  be  grateful 
for  the  mercies  we  ourselves  enjoy,  knowing  that 
wherever  else  the  Mind  of  the  Church  may  be,  it  at 
all  events  speaks  to  us  in  the  Church  of  our  own 
land,  offering  to  us  now,  as  authoritatively  as  it  did 
nineteen  hundred  years  ago,  the  one  Spirit,  the  one 
Gospel  then  committed  to  the  Saints,  and  now 
changed  only  in  having  grown  from  childhood  to 
maturity.  WitH  these  thoughts  in  our  minds,  we 
may  face  science  and  criticism,  and  we  shall  find  that 


n8        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

from  arrogant  enemies  they  have  been  transfigured 
into  humble  friends." 

"  A  very  capital  sermon,"  Sir  Roderick  was  saying 
presently. 

"  That  was  a  facer  for  some  people.  Now,  shall 
we  cut  for  partners?  I  believe  it  all,"  he  added,  as 
he  shuffled  a  pack  of  cards,  "  because  my  mother 
taught  me:  and  my  mother  was  one  of  the  very  best 
women  in  Europe." 


CHAPTEK    II 

SUNDAY  morning  dawned.  The  Bishop,  by 
seven  o'clock,  had  started  for  Ballyfergus,  ac- 
companied by  Sir  Koderick  Harborough;  and  the 
launch,  as  had  been  arranged,  came  back  with  the 
two  expected  clergymen  —  Mr.  Maxwell  and  Canon 
Morgan;  the  latter  of  whom  confided  to  Glanville 
that  there  was  yet  another,  who  proposed  to  walk 
over  eighteen  miles  of  mountain  on  the  chance  of  be- 
ing allowed  to  perform  a  short  office  in  the  evening. 
"  If  I  were  you,"  said  the  Canon,  "  I  would  let  him 
have  his  innings." 

The  prospect  of  three  services,  when  it  was  first 
disclosed  at  breakfast,  for  which  meal  the  clergy- 
men arrived  late,  was  not  welcomed  at  first  with  a 
quite  universal  enthusiasm;  but  one  of  the  party, 
when  the  pilgrim's  name  was  mentioned,  exhibited 
a  pleasure  at  once  so  devout  and  vivacious,  and  de- 
scribed him  as  possessing  a  personality  and  a  mind  so 
marvellous,  that  the  dread  of  his  advent  was  soon 
converted  into  curiosity.  The  enthusiast  who  ef- 
fected this  change  was  Mrs.  Jeffries. 

"  You  must  hear  him,"  she  said  gazing  into  Lord 
Restormel's  eyes.  "  You  will  come,  won't  you  —  to 
please  me? " 

"  Next,"  said  Lord  Restormel,  affecting  a  clandes- 
tine whisper,  "  next  to  the  privilege  of  kneeling  to 
you  is  the  privilege  of  kneeling  by  you." 

119 


120        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

Mrs.  Jeffries  acknowledged  this  compliment  by  an 
adroit  pressure  of  his  hand,  and  hoped  that  at  divine 
service  they  might  sing  together  out  of  the  same 
hymn-book.  When  the  party,  however,  found  them- 
selves in  church,  Lord  Restormel  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  her ;  and  she  herself  was  so  shocked  by  the 
aspect  of  the  sacred  edifice,  that  she  ceased  altogether 
for  a  time  to  be  conscious  of  the  eternal  masculine. 
The  style  was  Italian,  but  it  certainly  failed  to  con- 
vey the  smallest  suggestion  of  the  errors  or  the 
truths  of  Rome.  The  body  of  the  building  differed 
from  a  neglected  concert  hall  mainly  by  reason  of 
the  presence  of  an  overwhelming  pulpit,  on  which 
were  carved  a  coat  of  arms  and  a  mitre;  whilst  the 
family  pew,  resembling  an  enormous  tribune,  faced 
a  chancel  which  might  have  been  an  alcove  in  a  din- 
ing-room, if  it  had  not  been  for  an  altar,  furnished 
with  some  velvet  cushions.  Mr.  Maxwell  too,  in  his 
surplice  and  black  stole,  and  his  hood  which  pro- 
fanely suggested  the  degree  of  a  human  University, 
seemed  to  Mrs.  Jeffries  as  little  like  the  possessor  of 
any  true  priestly  powers  as  he  was  like  a  possible  ob- 
ject of  the  most  passing  female  affection.  He  was 
not  even  intense.  He  did  not  even  clasp  his  hands, 
so  as  to  form  with  his  fore-fingers  a  neat  isosceles 
triangle.  Prayer,  as  thus  conducted,  to  her  seemed 
beneath  contempt.  But  the  preacher,  once  in  the 
pulpit,  found  the  family  pew  attentive,  especially  as 
it  was  known  that  Glanville  had  privately  suggested 
to  him  the  propriety  of  addressing  himself  especially 
to  intelligent  and  enquiring  listeners:  and  to  this  it 
was  immediately  evident  that  Mr.  Maxwell  had  as- 


The  Church  to  the  World       121 

sented,  for  before  giving  out  his  text  lie  made  the 
following  short  announcement : 

"  As  I  have  been  honored,"  he  said  in  a  mild  gen- 
tlemanly voice,  "  by  being  asked  to  deliver  an  ad- 
dress at  the  Ballyfergus  Conference  on  the  general 
position  of  the  Church  of  Christ  to-day,  and  the  man- 
ner in  which  it  may  most  fitly  meet  the  laxity  and 
infidelity  of  the  age,  I  cannot  do  better  than  say 
briefly  to  you  this  morning  what  I  propose  to  say  to- 
morrow on  the  occasion  that  has  just  been  mentioned 
by  me." 

Then  having  shocked  Mrs.  Jeffries  still  further  by 
kneeling  and  ejaculating  a  collect,  instead  of  making 
a  sign  of  the  cross  in  space,  he  opened  a  manuscript 
contained  in  a  limp  black  cover,  spread  it  on  the  pul- 
pit-cushion, gave  a  slight  pull  to  his  University  hood, 
and  began. 

"  In  the  eighteenth  chapter  of  the  Second  Book 
of  Kings,  and  in  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  verses, 
it  is  thus  written  '  And  Hezekiah  gave  him  all  the 
gold  that  was  found  in  the  house  of  the  Lord.  At 
that  time  did  Hezekiah  cut  off  the  gold  from  the 
doors  of  the  temple  of  the  Lord,  and  from  the  pillars 
which  Hezekiah,  King  of  Judah,  had  overlaid,  and 
gave  it  to  the  King  of  Assyria.' 

"  The  Christian  mind,"  he  proceeded,  "  or  as  some 
prefer  to  call  it  the  Mind  of  the  Church,  must  recog- 
nize that  the  true  religion  has  gone  through  many 
vicissitudes  and  trials;  and  in  order  to  read  the  les- 
sons which  God  wishes  to  teach  us  by  them,  it  recog- 
nizes that  we  must  read  them  carefully  in  the  pages 
of  man's  history.  But  if  we  are  to  read  these  lessons 
aright,  the  first  requisite  is  that  the  historians  con- 


122        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

suited  by  us  shall  be  true  ones  —  that  there  shall  be 
nothing  doubtful  in  their  narratives  —  nothing  un- 
fair —  nothing  essential  left  out  of  them." 

"He  talks  much  better  sense,"  murmured  Mr. 
Hancock,  "  than  his  appearance  would  have  led  us  to 
expect." 

"  Now  the  only  history,"  continued  Mr.  Maxwell, 
"  of  God's  dealings  with  man,  which  covers  any  ex- 
tended period,  and  is  also  indubitably  accurate  in 
every  particular,  is  the  history  of  God's  dealings 
with  the  Chosen  People  and  with  their  enemies,  as 
given  us  in  the  Old  Testament :  for  the  Gospels  stop 
short  at  the  very  beginning  of  His  dealings  with  us 
under  the  new  Covenant.  And  if  we  desire,  as 
Christians,  to  find  guidance  amongst  the  difficulties 
of  the  modern  world,  the  dealings  of  God  with 
Hezekiah,  and  Hezekiah's  contemporaries,  are  those 
which,  at  the  present  day,  will  give  us  the  clearest 
lesson." 

Mr.  Maxwell  then  proceeded,  somewhat  to  the  dis- 
may of  his  hearers,  to  analyze  what  he  called  the 
"  mixed  character "  of  the  monarch,  who,  when 
menaced  by  the  Assyrians,  endeavored  to  buy  them 
off  by  robbing  the  temple,  instead  of  trusting  to  the 
arm  of  Jehovah;  and  did  not,  till  his  enemies  actu- 
ally made  an  attack  on  him,  betake  himself  to  this 
true  refuge. 

"  No  sooner,"  said  Mr.  Maxwell,  "  had  he  adopted 
this  sensible  course,  than  he  was,  as  we  all  know,  well 
and  indeed  signally  rewarded.  The  God  of  Israel, 
merely  by  His  fatherly  fiat,  annihilated  at  a  single 
blow  the  whole  of  the  Assyrian  army,  killing  in  one 
night  nearly  two  hundred  thousand  of  our  fellow- 


The  Church  to  the  World       123 

creatures,  who  were,  humanly  speaking,  doing  no 
more  than  their  duty.  When  we  think  of  this 
mercy,  and  of  how  little  Hezekiah  had  deserved  it, 
we  see  how  truly  long-suffering  the  Lord  is,  as  well 
as  how  mighty.  But  with  what  difficulty  did  Heze- 
kiah learn  this  great  truth  !  And  yet  it  was  one,  we 
should  be  apt  to  say,  which  he  might  have  learned 
easily  —  which  we,  had  we  been  in  his  place,  could 
hardly  have  helped  learning:  because  only  five 
years  before  he  ascended  his  throne  he  had  seen  want 
of  faith  punished  in  a  manner  indeed  amazing. 
When  the  Assyrians  had  carried  away  the  Israelit- 
ish  inhabitants  of  Samaria,  the  king  of  Assyria  col- 
onized that  country  with  men  of  various  races  — 
men  from  Babylon,  Cuthah,  Ava,  Hamath  and  Sep- 
harvaim:  and  the  men  of  each  race  brought  their 
own  religion  with  them  —  the  only  religion  with 
which  they  had  any  acquaintance.  But  in  spite  of 
this  last  circumstance,  which  we  with  our  lax  ideas 
might  hastily  consider  as  extenuating,  the  Lord  in- 
dicated his  divinity  by  sending,  as  Holy  Scripture 
says,  l  lions  among  them,  which  slew  some  of  them., 
Now  if  those  who  had  never  known  the  Lord  could 
be  thus  punished  for  not  trusting  Him,  Hezekiah 
might  surely  have  realized  how  heinous  was  his  own 
offence  in  failing  to  trust  One  whom  already  he  knew 
so  well,  and  in  seeking  to  make  peace  with  the  enemy 
by  surrendering  Jehovah's  treasures.  But  O  my 
Christian  brethren,  before  we  cast  a  stone  at  Heze- 
kiah, on  account  of  this  act  of  sacrilege,  let  us  look 
into  our  own  hearts,  and  see  if  in  these  days  we  are 
not    ourselves    tempted   to    make    peace    with    the 


124        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

enemies  of  the  Church  by  a  surrender  of  a  similar, 
but  far  more  unpardonable  kind." 

Mr.  Maxwell,  whose  utterance  hitherto  had  been 
a  kind  of  drowsy  singsong,  which  allowed  the  rustle 
of  his  manuscript  to  be  audible  as  he  turned  over  its 
pages,  here  straightened  himself.  He  looked  up 
with  a  mild  defiance,  and  proceeded  at  a  brisker 
pace. 

"  In  Hezekiah  and  the  Jews,"  he  said,  "  we  see  a 
type  of  the  true  Church  —  the  custodian  of  the  Gos- 
pel message:  and  in  the  Assyrians,  now  taunting 
Hezekiah,  now  threatening  him,  we  see  a  type  of 
the  enemies  of  the  true  Christian  to-day.  Those 
enemies,  as  must  also  have  been  the  case  with  the 
army  of  the  King  of  Assyria,  are  divided  into  differ- 
ent companies,  armed  each  with  its  own  weapon  of 
destruction.  On  the  one  hand  we  have  the  avowed 
infidels,  who  attack  the  servants  of  Jehovah,  so  to 
speak,  in  the  open.  From  these  we  have  least  to 
fear.  We  see  them,  and  can  wrest  their  feeble 
weapons  from  them.  But  far  more  dangerous  than 
the  infidels,  because  more  insidious,  are  those  who  at- 
tack the  Gospel,  disguised  insidiously  as  its  friends. 
I  mean  the  emissaries  of  the  lapsed  Church  of  Rome 
—  that  Church  which  makes  God's  commandments 
of  none  effect  through  her  traditions;  which  instead 
of  true  prayer  gives  us  vain  repetitions,  most  of  them 
addressed  not  to  God  but  to  erring  creatures  like  our- 
selves ;  which  turns  the  humble  mother  of  the  Lord's 
human  body  into  a  Goddess;  which  makes  justifica- 
tion an  affair  of  sacramental  charms;  and  de- 
grades the  spiritual  meaning  of  the  Lord's  simple 
supper  into  a  rite  more  blasphemous  than  any  which 


The  Church  to  the  World       125 

the  children  of  Sepharvaim  and  Hainath  ever  prac- 
tised in  the  high  places  of  Samaria. 

"  And  now,  dearly  beloved  brethren,  let  us  ask 
ourselves  very  seriously,  How  do  some  of  ourselves 
meet  these  enemies  of  Israel?  Do  not  some  of  us 
endeavor  to  make  our  peace  with  them  by  surrender- 
ing, as  Hezekiah  did,  the  very  treasures  of  the  Lord's 
temple  —  the  gold  and  silver  of  pure  Church-of- 
England  truth  ?  Do  not  some  of  us  go  further  even 
than  Hezekiah,  and  build,  as  the  Samaritans  did, 
whom  the  lions  of  God  slew,  high  places  of  idolatry 
in  imitation  of  theirs? 

"  Alas  —  and  now,  I  fear  I  must  add  more.  I 
have  said  that  the  avowed  infidel  is  less  dangerous 
than  the  priest  of  the  lapsed  Church.  Yes,  and  of 
the  avowed  infidel  this  is  no  doubt  true.  But  have 
not  we  —  even  we,  within  the  Church  of  England 
itself,  traitors  who  are  infidels  at  heart,  though  wear- 
ing the  garments  of  Christ  —  who,  whilst  pretend- 
ing to  defend  the  Bible,  the  rock  on  which  our  faith 
is  built,  are  doing  with  our  disguised  denials  the 
work  of  the  open  enemy  —  who  instead  of  surrender- 
ing the  simplicity  of  the  Gospel  to  the  Assyrian  of 
Idolatrous  Rome,  are  surrendering  its  divinity  to  the 
Assyrians  of  so-called  science  and  scholarship  —  who 
surrender  to  the  objector  here  the  reality  of  a 
miracle,  here  a  point  of  chronology,  here  the  ful- 
filment of  a  prophecy,  yes,  and  even  the  truth  of 
God's  own  account  of  His  Creation  of  the  world,  and 
our  first  parents  themselves:  until  at  last  all  the 
treasures  of  the  house  of  the  Lord  have  gone? 

"  Oh  believe  me,  my  dear  brethren,  in  dealing  with 
such  enemies  as  these,  the  true  Christian  can  act  on 


126        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

one  principle  only  —  the  principle  of  no  surrender. 
If  we  allow  ourselves  to  deny  veracity,  spiritual  and 
historical,  of  any  one  sentence  in  Holy  Scripture  we 
deny  the  authority  of  the  whole.  If  we  allow  our- 
selves to  disbelieve  in  the  reality  of  any  one  Biblical 
miracle,  on  the  ground  that  it  was  too  great  a  viola- 
tion of  the  uniform  laws  of  nature  for  any  evidence 
to  render  reasonably  probable,  we  shall  end  with  dis- 
believing in  the  historical  reality  of  all.  If  we  al- 
low ourselves  to  smile  at  the  fiery  chariot  of  Elijah, 
we  shall  end  in  smiling  at  the  Ascension  of  our  Lord's 
body.  One  hardly  ventures  to  contemplate  a  pos- 
sibility so  awful  as  that :  but  it  is  well  to  see  the  pre- 
cipice on  the  edge  of  which  some  are  walking.  To 
doubt  that  the  sun  stood  still  at  the  bidding  of 
Joshua,  is  to  doubt  the  miraculous  darkness  enshroud- 
ing the  whole  earth,  which  marked  the  completion 
of  the  great  vicarious  sacrifice:  and  to  doubt  that 
darkness  is  to  deny  the  sacrifice  itself.  Yes,  dear 
brethren,  let  us  pay  to  the  Assyrians  what  bribes  we 
will,  they  will  not  keep  faith  with  us.  Having  taken 
away  from  us  the  gold  and  silver  of  the  temple,  they 
will  assault  us  again,  and  they  will  raze  the  entire 
dwelling  to  the  ground,  unless  in  our  extremity,  we 
at  least  learn  true  wisdom,  and  return  to  that  re- 
vealed Jehovah  who  alone  is  powerful  to  save.  We 
must  not,  indeed,  look  for  a  miracle  in  the  old  sense, 
but  we  live  under  a  dispensation  of  special  Divine 
providences.  God  no  longer  causes  the  moon  to 
stand  still  in  the  valley  of  Ajalon ;  nor  does  he  make 
dumb  animals  speak ;  nor  does  he  prepare  swimming 
monsters  of  the  deep  to  preserve  appointed  messen- 
gers ;  but  He  still,  in  direct  answer  to  the  prayers  of 


The  Church  to  the  World       127 

His  faithful  people,  gives  or  withholds  the  rain,  so 
the  earth  may  bring  forth  its  harvest,  and  causes  the 
pestilence  to  cease  which  He  hath  sent  to  chastise 
his  chosen;  and  though  it  would  be  presumptuous, 
and  indeed  impious  to  hope  that  our  Father  will  in 
these  days  protect  the  convictions  of  His  children  by 
an  actual  slaughter  of  those  who  do  not  share  them, 
yet  His  arm  is  not  shortened,  and  He  will,  if  we  only 
trust  him,  by  some  secret  method  of  His  own,  cause 
the  hosts  of  Assyria,  with  their  weapons  of  false 
science,  to  disappear  from  before  Jerusalem,  like  a 
mist  that  melts  in  the  morning." 

The  congregation  thought,  for  a  moment,  that 
Mr.  Maxwell  had  here  ended.  He  could  not,  how- 
ever, having  got  on  the  subject  of  miracles,  resist  the 
temptation  to  go  back  to  them:  and  he  accordingly 
proceeded  to  explain  that  miracles  were  of  two  kinds 
—  one  of  which  was  performed  by  the  direct  agency 
of  the  Almighty,  whilst  the  other  involved  the  in- 
tervention of  natural  or  secondary  causes.  The  de- 
struction of  the  Assyrians  was  a  signal  example  of 
the  first ;  the  destruction  of  some  of  the  Samaritans 
by  the  appointed  lions,  of  the  second.  He  elabo- 
rated these  points  at  so  great  a  length,  that  his  bless- 
ing, when  he  came  to  give  it,  was  received  by  some 
of  his  hearers  with  a  thankfulness  more  devout  than 
could  be  accounted  for  by  even  its  intrinsic  value; 
and  the  incompleteness  of  his  success  in  retaining 
their  full  attention  was  illustrated  by  the  fact  that, 
on  their  leaving  the  sacred  edifice,  the  first  observa- 
tion audible  —  it  was  addressed  by  one  lady  to  an- 
other —  "  My  dear,  there's  a  hook  at  the  back  of 


128        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

your  dress  unfastened.  I  Ve  been  noticing  it  all  the 
time.     Do  let  me  put  it  right  for  you." 

But  whatever  disposition  there  might  be  amongst 
certain  persons  to  think  that  they  had  had  already 
enough  preaching  for  a  month,  their  views  were 
changed  when  they  encountered  Canon  Morgan  in 
the  library,  who  having  devoted  the  morning  to  cor- 
recting his  own  discourse,  was  dropping  the  ashes  of 
a  cigarette  on  a  page  of  Professor  Huxley's  Essays. 

"  Capital  fellow,  Huxley  — "  he  said,  as  he  closed 
the  volume.  "My  dear  Mr.  Glanville,  there  was 
more  Christianity  in  Huxley  —  What?  Are  you 
going  for  a  little  walk  before  luncheon?  Done  with 
you.     I  'm  your  man." 

The  whole  bearing  of  the  Canon  formed  a  contrast 
so  striking  to  that  of  Mr.  Maxwell,  which  seemed 
drowsy  with  a  confidence  in  the  doctrines  just 
preached  by  him  from  the  pulpit,  that  the  prospect 
of  hearing  the  former  express  himself  from  the  same 
place,  was  soon  felt  to  be  almost  exhilarating,  and  he 
certainly  did  not  disappoint  the  expectations  which 
he  had  thus  raised.  It  was  regretted  by  some  that 
Mr.  Maxwell  was  not  present,  to  hear  this  second  ut- 
terance of  the  Mind  of  the  Church  of  England :  but 
he  had  returned  in  the  launch  directly  after  lunch- 
eon to  Ballyfergus,  in  consequence  of  Mrs.  Maxwell 
being,  as  he  delicately  expressed  it,  about  to  necessi- 
tate his  night  order  for  a  perambulator. 

Canon  Morgan's  official  voice  was  one  of  great  re- 
finement: and  he  read  the  prayers  with  a  modulation 
so  perfect,  that  he  almost  seemed  to  have  arrested 
them  on  their  way  to  Heaven,  in  order  that  his 
earthly  hearers  might  appreciate  their  artistic  merit. 


The  Church  to  the  World       129 

His  face,  which  as  soon  as  he  was  in  the  pulpit,  was 
carefully  scanned  by  his  congregation,  intellectual, 
shrewd,  and  flanked  by  mundane  whiskers,  derived 
from  his  surplice  an  admirably  Christian  expression, 
which  elsewhere  it  perhaps  lacked. 

His  text  was  a  short  one  —  "  In  the  Spirit,  not  in 
the  letter." 

"I  am  going,"  he  began,  in  level  and  pleasant 
tones,  "  to  set  out  with  telling  you  something  which, 
for  many  reasons,  may  startle  you.  But  let  me  say 
with  Shakespeare,  or,  as  some  would  have  it,  with 
Bacon, 

Season  your  admiration  for  a  while 
With  an  attent  ear. 

"  I  do  n't  know,"  he  continued,  "  whether  any  of 
you  here  have  ever  believed  or  taken  an  interest  in 
the  alleged  facts  of  Spiritualism.  I  hope  you  have : 
for  I  am  going  to  call  your  attention  to  the  strange, 
but  now  forgotten  case,  of  the  medium  Letitia  Mor- 
ton, whose  powers  were,  according  to  a  number  of 
depositions  by  independent  writers,  tested  and  at- 
tested by  a  group  of  the  most  prominent  of  the  men 
and  women  who  made  England  famous  during  the 
course  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Letitia  Morton 
claimed  the  power  of  throwing  herself  into  a  trance, 
which  no  physician  would  be  able  to  distinguish  from 
death.  In  this  trance,  so  she  said,  she  was  willing  to 
be  bound  hand  and  foot  by  experts  in  the  art  of 
binding,  and  to  be  locked  and  sealed  up  in  any  iron 
safe  that  would  hold  her.  She  engaged  to  remain 
there  for  forty-eight  hours  at  least  —  the  safe  being 
watched  every  hour  of  the  night  and  day  —  and  then 


130        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

at  an  appointed  moment,  to  unbind  herself,  to  escape 
from  her  prison,  and  appear  either  in  the  room  above, 
or  even  at  some  distant  place;  and  further,  should 
the  investigators  of  her  case  desire  it,  to  show  herself 
before  their  very  eyes,  being  levitated  in  the  open 
air. 

"  "Well,  this  woman,  I  was  seriously  told  by  a  num- 
ber of  educated  Spiritualists,  had  actually  accom- 
plished so  many  remarkable  feats,  that  the  following 
persons  consented  to  accept  her  challenge  to  lock  her 
up,  as  she  proposed,  and  carefully  to  observe  what 
followed.  These  persons  were  the  then  Mr.  Dis- 
raeli, Mr.  Gladstone,  Mr.  Huxley,  Lord  Palmerston, 
George  Eliot,  Miss  Martineau,  and  others:  and  every 
one  of  them  —  such  was  the  story  —  was  convinced 
that  her  powers  were  genuine,  and  that  she  actually 
accomplished  what  she  had  promised. 

"  Now  I  confess,"  Canon  Morgan  continued,  "  that 
this  mere  oral  statement,  made  as  it  was  many  years 
after  the  alleged  events,  would  not  have  had  much 
weight  with  me  if  I  had  not  been  told  further  that 
there  were  certain  written  depositions,  made  by  four 
persons  who  were  eye-witnesses  of  what  occurred; 
and  if  I  had  not  been  told  where  these  written  de- 
positions were  to  be  found.  They  were  to  be  found 
in  a  house  in  West  Kensington  where  the  experiment 
in  question  took  place;  and  they  were  there  right 
enough.  They  were  written,  respectively,  by  Mr. 
Mann,  the  vicar  of  the  parish;  Dr.  Bull,  the  doctor 
of  the  family  to  whom  the  house  belonged;  Mr. 
Lyons,  the  family  lawyer;  and  Mr.  Bird,  a  professor 
of  philosophy  at  Cambridge.  Each  of  these  gentle- 
men had  written  his  own  account  independently,  at 


The  Church  to  the  World       131 

a  different  date  and  for  the  satisfaction  of  different 
friends;  and  though  none  was  written  till  some 
years  after  the  event,  I  was  assured  that  each  writer 
could  vouch  for  the  accuracy  of  every  detail  men- 
tioned by  him. 

"  I  examined  these  documents;  I  showed  them  to 
several  friends;  and  I  confess  we  were  fairly  stag- 
gered by  them,  the  coincidence  of  the  evidence  for 
even  the  most  incredible  of  the  occurrences  seemed 
so  striking.  But  after  a  more  minute  collation  of 
the  accounts,  some  curious  facts  began  to  dawn  on 
us,  the  chief  of  which  had  reference  to  the  following 
points  in  the  story.  The  first  point  was  the  day  on 
which  the  alleged  experiment  began,  and  this  was 
specified  by  all  the  writers  with  an  almost  ostenta- 
tious minuteness.  The  second  was  the  precise  hour 
when  the  locking-up  took  place,  with  regard  to  which 
the  writers  were  all  equally  minute.  The  third 
was  the  manner  in  which  the  medium's  body  had 
been  bound.  The  fourth  was  the  actual  incident  of 
committing  her  to  her  imprisonment.  The  fifth  was 
the  manner  in  which  the  safe  had  been  watched  be- 
tween the  beginning  of  her  incarceration,  and  the 
hour  of  her  alleged  escape :  the  sixth  was  the  conduct 
of  the  investigators,  when  this  critical  moment  had 
arrived:  and  the  seventh  was  her  alleged  re-appear- 
ance, and  her  successful  self-levitation.  I  will  take 
these  seven  points  in  the  order  in  which  I  have  given 
them. 

"  First  as  to  the  day  on  which  the  alleged  experi- 
ments began:  all  the  writers  agreed  this  was  a  day 
in  August,  immediately  after  the  prorogation  of  Par- 
liament.    Now  Parliament  that  year  was  prorogued 


132        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

on  a  Thursday,  the  next  day  being  a  holiday  in  honor 
of  some  Royal  marriage,  to  which  last  fact  all  the 
writers  gave  prominence:  but  whilst  three  of  them 
declared,  in  the  most  positive  and  minute  way,  that 
the  medium  met  the  investigators  at  the  house  in 
question,  and  put  herself  into  a  trance,  on  the  Thurs- 
day, the  fourth  writer  —  the  scholarly  Mr.  Bird  of 
Cambridge,  declared  no  less  positively  that  this  event 
took  place  on  the  Friday  —  the  famous  holiday 
which  had  impressed  itself  on  the  imagination  of  all 
of  them. 

This  discrepancy  in  itself  might  not  have  had  much 
significance :  but  now  let  us  come  to  our  second  point, 
namely  the  time  of  the  day.  As  to  this,  one  would 
think,  there  could  hardly  have  been  any  difference: 
but  whilst  three  of  the  writers  declared  that  the  me- 
dium went  into  a  trance,  and  was  locked  up  in  the 
safe,  late  in  the  evening  after  dinner,  Mr.  Bird  de- 
clared that  this  happened  directly  after  five  o'clock 
tea. 

"  We  now  come  to  the  third  point  —  namely  the 
tying  up  of  the  medium.  Mr.  Lyons  and  Dr.  Bull 
say  distinctly  that  she  was  tied  up  by  George  Eliot 
and  Miss  Martineau.  Mr.  Bird,  on  the  contrary 
says  that  this  office  was  performed  by  Lord  Pal- 
merston  —  aided,  which  seems  strange,  by  Sir  Moses 
Montefiore,  of  whom  none  of  the  other  writers  make 
any  mention  at  all,  and  to  whom  Mr.  Bird  himself 
had  made  no  allusion  previously. 

"  And  now  for  the  fourth  point  —  the  placing  of 
the  medium  in  the  safe.  My  spiritualistic  friends 
had  told  me  that  the  most  astounding  of  all  the  phe- 
nomena had  taken  place  in  connection  with  this  in- 


The  Church  to  the  World       133 

cident.  The  moment  the  door  was  closed  and  the 
key  turned  in  the  lock,  the  whole  of  London  —  al- 
though the  month  was  August  —  was  suddenly,  so 
they  said,  enveloped  in  a  yellow  fog,  denser  than  any 
ever  known  to  have  occurred  in  November.  Well 
—  not  only  do  the  newspapers  of  the  day  tell  us  noth- 
ing of  this  portent,  but  nothing  is  said  of  it  by  any 
of  our  four  writers,  with  the  single  exception  of  Mr. 
Mann,  the  vicar.  For  Mr.  Mann  it  was  a  fact  of 
overwhelming  importance.  Mr.  Lyons,  Dr.  Bull, 
and  Mr.  Bird  knew  no  more  of  it  than  did  the  news- 
papers. 

"  Our  next  point  —  the  fifth  —  is  perhaps  more 
important  still.  I  refer  to  the  watching  of  the  safe 
after  the  medium  had  been  immured  in  it.  Would 
you  believe  it  ?  According  to  all  the  four  accounts 
no  watch  was  kept  by  any  one  of  the  investigators 
themselves;  and  according  to  three  of  the  accounts 
there  was  no  watch  kept  at  all.  Mr.  Mann,  how- 
ever, tells  us  that,  on  Mr.  Huxley's  suggestion,  the 
business  of  watching  was  deputed  to  five  policemen, 
who  were  bribed  by  him  to  say  that  the  medium  had 
taken  in  a  skeleton  key  with  her.  With  regard  to 
this  the  three  other  writers  are  silent. 

"  And  now  for  point  six  —  the  phenomenon  of  the 
medium's  escape.  That  she  did  escape  somehow,  and 
was  gone  at  the  hour  appointed,  all  the  accounts 
were  agreed:  but  what  did  we  find  when  we  ex- 
amined these  accounts  in  detail?  The  investigators 
having  left  the  safe  to  take  care  of  itself,  or,  if  we 
credit  Mr.  Mann,  to  be  taken  care  of  by  the  five  po- 
licemen, came  back  at  the  appointed  hour,  to  ex- 
amine it  and  see  what  had  happened;   but  here  the 


134        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

four  accounts  exhibited  the  most  hopeless  contradic- 
tions. Once  more  they  failed  to  agree  with  regard 
to  the  time  of  day.  Mr.  Mann  said  that  it  was  six 
on  Friday  evening.  Mr.  Lyons  said  it  was  Saturday 
morning  at  sunrise.  Mr.  Bird  specifically  declared 
that  the  sun  had  not  yet  risen.  And  then,  as  to  the 
investigators  themselves  —  which  of  them  came,  and 
in  what  order  —  what  it  was  precisely  that  they 
saw,  and  what  they  did,  when  they  came  —  here,  in- 
deed, we  find  confusion  worse  confounded.  All  the 
accounts,  I  must  admit,  agreed  as  to  one  point  — 
namely  that  George  Eliot  appeared  on  the  scene 
first:  but  Mr.  Mann  declared  that  she  brought  a  sin- 
gle companion,  Miss  Martineau.  Mr.  Lyons  declared 
that  she  brought  Miss  Martineau,  and  another  lady 
also;  Dr.  Bull  declared  that  she  brought  a  large 
party  of  other  ladies;  and  Mr.  Bird  declared  that 
she  came  having  nobody  with  her  at  all.  And  now 
let  us  see  what  is  alleged  to  have  happened  next. 
According  to  Mr.  Mann,  who  tells  the  most  startling 
story,  the  first-comers  discovered  the  safe  still  locked ; 
but  a  strange  foreign-looking  man,  in  a  white  jacket 
and  trousers,  was  standing  by  it.  The  door  was 
opened  by  him,  and  as  it  was  opened  it  exploded. 
The  five  policemen  fainted  from  fright  in  a  corner; 
the  ladies  looked  in  and  saw  that  the  safe  was  empty; 
and  the  stranger  in  white  told  them  that  Letitia 
Morton  was  in  Edinburgh.  The  other  three  writers 
made  widely  different  statements.  According  to  all 
three  the  safe  was  found  open  already:  but  as  to  the 
most  important  points  they  were  at  hopeless  variance 
among  themselves.  Mr.  Lyons,  indeed,  corroborates 
Mr.  Mann's  story  about  a  foreign-looking  man  in 


The  Church  to  the  World      135 

white,  who  named  Edinburgh  as  the  place  where 
they  would  find  the  medium:  but  Dr.  Bull  deposed 
that  there  were  two  men  in  white  not  one,  Edinburgh 
apparently  being  not  mentioned  by  either;  whilst 
Mr.  Bird's  account  said  nothing  about  any  such 
stranger,  or  such  strangers,  at  all.  Mr.  Bird's  ac- 
count was  as  follows.  George  Eliot  came  into  the 
room  alone,  but  retreated  at  once  without  examining 
anything;  and  hurrying  back  in  a  hansom,  returned 
in  course  of  time,  bringing  Lord  Palmerston  and  Mr. 
Disraeli  with  her.  Then  the  three  looked  into  the 
safe  together,  and  found  it  empty;  and  there  was  no 
one  in  white  or  otherwise  to  give  them  any  informa- 
tion about  anything.  But  the  climax  of  Mr.  Bird's 
story  still  remains  to  be  told.  Lord  Palmerston  and 
Mr.  Disraeli,  having  looked  into  the  safe  departed. 
George  Eliot,  however,  preferred  to  linger;  and  she 
had  hardly  been  left  alone,  when  a  woman  entered 
the  room,  who  looked  like,  and  whom  she  took  to  be, 
the  housekeeper.  George  Eliot  begged  this  woman 
to  tell  her  in  confidence  what  the  real  secret  of  the 
medium's  disappearance  was.  The  woman  replied 
quietly  that  she  was  really  Letitia  herself;  and 
George  Eliot,  at  once  accepting  this  statement,  hur- 
ried away  and  communicated  it  to  the  other  inves- 
tigators. 

It  remains  for  us  to  deal  with  the  seventh  point, 
and  the  last  —  namely  the  subsequent  meeting  of 
the  assembled  investigators  and  medium,  on  which 
occasion  the  latter  was  alleged  to  have  performed 
in  broad  daylight,  that  act  of  self-levitation  which, 
according  to  the  spiritualists,  put  the  final  stamp  of 
genuiness    on    all    of    her    previous    achievements. 


136        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

Well  —  in  spite  of  the  importance  of  this  point,  it 
is,  strange  to  say,  a  point  with  regard  to  which  the 
four  writers  were  found  to  disagree  even  more  than 
they  had  done  about  anything  else.  Mr.  Bird's  evi- 
dence was  negative.  He  omitted  the  incident  all 
together.  Mr.  Mann  and  Mr.  Lyons  alluded  to  it, 
but  in  the  vaguest  terms  only.  Dr.  Bull  alone  gave 
any  distinct  account  of  it:  and  according  to  him  it 
took  place  not  in  Edinburgh,  but  on  Primrose  Hill." 

Here  Canon  Morgan  paused,  and  seemed  to  be 
scrutinizing  his  congregation.  Then  he  went  on,  in 
slower  and  more  incisive  accents.  "  Now  I  ask  you 
seriously,"  he  said,  "  even  if  you  were  inclined  to  be 
spiritualistic,  would  you  accept  these  accounts,  which 
apart  from  a  vague  tradition,  are  our  sole  evidence 
in  the  case,  as  proving  that  these  alleged  perform- 
ances of  this  particular  medium  were  genuine?  It 
stands  to  reason  that  you  would  not.  The  evidence 
of  our  four  writers  is  indeed  so  hopelessly  bad,  that 
I  should  not  be  at  all  surprised  if  you  set  the  whole 
anecdote  down  as  a  mere  invention  of  my  own. 
"Well,"  said  the  Canon,  "  and,  to  be  frank  with  you, 
so  it  is.  The  medium  is  imaginary;  the  investiga- 
tion is  imaginary;  and  so,  naturally,  are  the  four 
accounts  and  their  writers." 

"  What,"  murmured  Mrs.  Jeffries  aghast.  "  And 
so  none  of  all  that  was  true?  I  never  heard  any- 
thing that  was  n't  true  in  church  before." 

Lord  Kestormel  whispered  to  her  "Lucky 
woman!  " 

"  But  I  did  not,"  the  Canon  continued,  after  an- 
other long  pause,  "  tell  you  my  story  —  my  parable, 
if  I  may  so  call  it  —  for  nothing.     Its  obvious  point, 


The  Church  to  the  World       137 

as  you  of  course  see,  is  this  —  that  if  the  medium  had 
really  existed,  if  an  investigation  had  really  taken 
place,  and  if  the  sole  records  were  four  such  accounts 
as  I  have  described,  these  accounts  would,  instead  of 
establishing,  have  themselves  sufficed  to  discredit, 
the  reality  of  the  alleged  phenomena.  This  is  the 
obvious  point  of  my  parable:  and  now  for  what  lies 
behind  it. 

"  In  the  glaring  discrepancies  between  my  four 
imaginary  writers,  dealing  with  the  miracles  alleged 
to  have  been  performed  by  a  medium,  you  have  an 
exact,  though  a  somewhat  abridged  parallel,  to  the 
discrepancies  which  exist  between  the  depositions  of 
four  writers  who  are  not  imaginary,  and  whose  sym- 
bols are  a  man,  a  lion,  a  bull,  and  a  bird,  with  re- 
gard to  the  last  meal,  the  entombment,  the  resurrec- 
tion, and  the  ascension  of  their  revered  Master.  My 
imaginary  narrative  simply  gives  you  equivalents 
seriatim  to  the  specific  contradictions  and  differ- 
ences between  the  four  Gospels,  in  so  far  as  they  re- 
late those  ultra-miraculous  incidents,  which  the  early 
Church,  during  the  first  century  of  its  existence, 
gradually  came  to  associate  with  the  close  of  its 
Founder's  life:  and  which,  having  been  accepted  for 
ages  as  credentials  of  the  truth  of  Christianity,  are 
now,  as  you  and  I,  and  every  educated  man  knows, 
affecting  the  world  as  so  many  credentials  of  its  false- 
hood, and  are  thus  alienating  those  whom  it  is  its 
continued  mission  to  save. 

"  Many,"  he  continued  —  "  and  I  can  respect  their 
motives,  though  I  deplore  what  to  me  seems  their 
mistaken  judgment  —  will  say  that  it  is  irreverent 
to  give  utterance  to  such  criticisms  as  these,  or  that, 


138        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

if  uttered,  they  should  be  uttered  with  the  apology 
of  bated  breath.  I  utterly  deny  the  contention.  In 
matters  of  religion  less  than  in  anything  else,  can 
that  which  we  know  to  be  false  ever  deserve  rever- 
ence :  and  we  show  the  weakness,  not  the  strength  of 
our  faith,  in  the  essence  of  our  Lord's  message,  if  we 
fear  that  it  will  lose  a  tittle  of  its  true  vitality  by  our 
fearlessly  dissociating  it  from  legends  which  the 
world  can  believe  no  longer.  I  have  no  hesitation  in 
saying  that  those  Churches  which  still  identify  the 
spiritual  authority  of  the  Saviour  with  quasi-histor- 
ical statements  which  science  and  common-sense  re- 
pudiate, are  tying  a  mill-stone  round  His  neck,  and 
drowning  Him  in  the  depths  of  the  sea:  and  it  is,  I 
rejoice  to  say,  the  glory  of  the  Church  of  England 
to  be  so  constituted  that  she  can  from  her  own  pul- 
pits free  the  truths  of  her  faith  from  all  its  outside 
accretions,  instead  of  leaving  the  work  to  those  who 
are  indifferent  to  that  truth  itself." 

"  Not  bad  for  a  parson/7  muttered  Captain  Jeffries 
approvingly. 

"  I  have  said,"  continued  the  Canon,  "  that  the 
spiritual  authority  of  the  Master  would  lose  nothing 
by  this  process.  Lose,  did  I  say?  Will  it  not  rather 
gain,  as  a  precious  statue  would  gain,  if  denuded  of 
tinsel  or  drapery:  or  as  the  moon  gains  in  lustre 
when  she  shows  us  her  clear  brilliance,  emerging 
from  banks  of  clouds  whose  edges  she  has  been  long 
silvering?  Yes,"  said  the  Canon,  his  tone  becoming 
more  appealing,  "  let  us  be  just.  The  moon  does 
silver  the  very  clouds  that  hide  her;  and  the  char- 
acter of  the  Master  has  irradiated  with  a  pearl-like 
beauty  the  legends  which,  by  a  natural  process,  have 


The  Church  ot  the  World       139 

gathered  round  His  divine  life.  Yes  —  but  let  us 
remember  this.  It  is  not  the  marvels  of  legend  that 
have  made  that  life  adorable.  It  is  the  divine  life 
that  for  a  time  has  rendered  the  marvels  credible. 
To  rid  our  minds  therefore,  of  the  latter  —  or  to  re- 
tain them  only  as  symbols  which  still  have  a  language 
for  the  imagination,  is  for  us  the  supreme  act  at  once 
of  faith  and  reverence,  by  which  we  shall,  in  reality, 
instead  of  being  separated  from  the  Lord,  be  drawn 
nearer  to  him  than  we  ever  were  drawn  before." 

"  I  have  every  sympathy,"  said  Lord  Kestormel 
to  Lady  Snowdon,  "  with  a  parson  who  gives  up  his 
living,  and  attacks  the  Church  like  a  man.  I  've 
none  with  an  Apostle  like  our  friend,  who  betrays  it 
with  a  slobbering  kiss." 

"  You,"  the  Canon  went  on,  "  whom  I  am  now  ad- 
dressing, have  probably  all  felt  that  what  hindered 
you  from  approaching  the  Lord  more  closely,  was 
precisely  this  barrier  of  miracles,  in  the  now  in- 
credible sense  of  the  word:  but  let  us  once  get  rid 
of  this  false  idea  of  miracles,  and  we  find  that  we 
have  got  rid  of  miracles,  only  to  make  place  for  a 
miracle  —  the  holy  and  undivided  miracle  of  God's 
great  Universe  —  in  which  man  for  us  is  the  image 
of  God  Himself,  and  the  man  Christ  is  the  divine 
image  of  Humanity.  Think  of  the  sublime  concep- 
tion of  things  which  thus  emerges  glowing  before  us. 
The  whole  Universe  stands  revealed  to  us  in  its  grand 
process  of  evolution;  and  as  the  climax  of  this  evolu- 
tion —  as  its  central  cosmic  flower,  stands  the  figure 
of  Him  who  is  the  Founder  of  the  religion  which  we 
still  profess  —  a  figure  not  unnaturally  begotten,  as 
the  Indian  fable  about  Gautama,  but  divinely,  that  is 


140        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

to  say  naturally,  evolved.  'What/  asks  Auguste 
Sabatier,  the  great  leader  of  Protestant  thought  in 
France,  '  what  is  Nature  in  its  expansion  and  its  evo- 
lution —  what  is  it  but  the  very  expression  and  will 
of  the  Father  V" 

"  Fudge,"  muttered  Mr.  Hancock.  "  He  does  n't 
even  know  what  the  word  '  evolution '  means." 

"Let  us  only  grasp  these  ideas,"  the  Canon  was 
now  saying,  "  and  we  shall  see  that  the  very  dogmas 
of  Christianity  come  to  live  again  in  a  transfigured 
form.  We  shall  see  our  evolved  Master  crucified 
for  our  sakes  in  the  sorrows  which  he  shared  with  all 
of  us,  buried  in  the  flesh  as  we  shall  be  buried  like- 
wise, and  risen  again  in  the  undying  example  which 
He  has  given  us,  as  we  also,  let  us  pray,  may  in  due 
time  rise  for  others." 

Thus,  the  Canon  proceeded  to  explain  to  his  hear- 
ers, the  Creeds  still  remained  for  us  precious  and 
indestructible  documents,  to  which,  in  their  new 
sense,  any  Christian  Minister  —  at  all  events  any 
Minister  in  our  grand  national  Church  —  might  sub- 
scribe fearlessly  with  a  sort  of  transfigured  honesty. 
He  might,  indeed,  not  only  subscribe  to  all  the  articles 
which  the  Creeds  contain,  but  he  might  add  another 
article  to  them,  which  would  improve  and  complete 
the  rest.  The  Creeds  bade  us  believe  that  the  Mas- 
ter had  personally  ascended.  He  indeed  had  done 
so,  not  by  being  physically  levitated,  but  by  accom- 
panying the  Church,  through  His  influence,  in  the 
course  of  its  upward  progress.  We  might  now  there- 
fore add  to  our  belief  in  the  Ascension  of  the 
Founder,  a  further  belief  in  the  Ascension  of  the 
Church  itself.     The  imagination  of  our  forefathers 


The  Church  to  the  World      141 

had  symbolized  the  Church  as  a  Bride.  We  now 
discerned  that  not  symbolically,  but  sociologically  it 
was  indeed  a  living  body.  It  was  a  social  organism 
in  an  age-long  condition  of  growth;  and  its  Ascen- 
sion consisted  in  that  very  process  which  seemed  to 
timid  souls  its  dissolution  and  ruin.  This,  said  the 
Canon,  was  the  process,  to  which  he  had  already  re- 
ferred, of  casting  away  all  legends  and  dogmas,  as 
understood  in  the  sense  which  they  were  originally 
meant  to  bear:  and  he  wound  up  with  an  impassioned 
and  eloquent  prophecy  of  the  glorious  future  which 
by  this  sacred  means,  the  Mind  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land was  preparing  for  the  Church  in  general.  "  The 
Church,"  said  the  Canon,  "  is  no  longer  the  foe  of 
science,  or  of  the  evolution  which  science  reveals  to 
us.  The  gaze  of  knowledge  mixes  with  her  gaze  of 
love;  and  lo!  even  as  we  look,  the  divine  body  rises 
—  if  we  once  more  may  have  recourse  to  the  symbol- 
ism of  primitive  legend  —  and  is  removed  from  our 
sight  —  nay  not  in  a  cloud  —  but  in  the  blaze  of  uni- 
versal life  with  which  she  has  become  one." 

The  Canon's  discourse  had  affected  his  different 
hearers  differently.  "  I  never  heard,"  said  Mr.  Han- 
cock into  his  hat,  as  he  reproduced  unconsciously  a 
devotional  attitude  of  his  youth,  "  I  never  heard  such 
a  tissue  of  trash  as  that  last  pass  in  my  life."  Lady 
Snowdon  had  made  notes  of  parts  of  it  on  the  fly- 
leaf of  an  Aprochrypha;  whilst  Mrs.  Jeffries,  who 
was  bewildered  by  the  beginning  of  it,  and  indescrib- 
ably shocked  by  the  middle,  was  partially  soothed  by 
her  failure  to  comprehend  the  end.  She  was  not, 
however,  really  comfortable  till,  the  party  having 
left  the  church,  and  betaken  themselves  to  the  ter- 


142        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

race,  where  tea  was  already  awaiting  them,  her  eyes 
encountered  an  object  which  made  her  heart  palpi- 
tate so  as  actually  to  cause  a  commotion  amongst  the 
folds  of  the  blouse  that  covered  it.  "  Ah,"  she  ex- 
claimed pressing  her  troubled  corset  with  the  dainti- 
est of  grey  gloves,  "  there  he  is!  There  's  Father 
Skipton." 


CHAPTER   III 

GLANVILLE,  on  hearing  this,  hastened  forward 
to  meet  the  stranger,  who  was  slowly  coming 
towards  them  from  the  far  end  of  the  terrace.  Seen 
from  the  distance  he  resembled  an  alpaca  umbrella- 
case,  being  covered  with  a  species  of  cassock,  which 
round  his  waist  was  tied  by  a  tasselled  cord.  He  was 
limping  slightly,  and  was  resting  one  of  his  hands  on 
the  neck  of  a  large-eyed  boy  —  a  son-  of  one  of  the 
gardeners  —  who  was  carrying  an  oblong  parcel  for 
him. 

On  Glanville's  approach  he  lifted  a  broad-brimmed 
hat,  and  alike  in  his  smile  and  greeting  exhibited,  to 
the  latter's  surprise,  all  the  manner  of  a  self-poss- 
essed and  well-bred  gentleman.  Father  Skipton  had, 
indeed,  in  his  University  days,  been  renowned  at 
Cambridge,  as  an  actor  of  ladies'  parts  in  theatricals; 
and  the  gleaming  eyes  which  gave  light  to  his  now 
attenuated  face,  seemed  still,  though  they  only 
seemed,  to  have  an  artificial  darkness  under  them. 

"  This  kind  lad  of  yours,"  he  said,  "  has  guided  me, 
and  carried  my  kit.  May  I  ask  him  to  take  it  to  the 
vestry,  as  your  church,  I  believe,  is  close  by.  Thank 
you,  dear  fellow,"  he  added,  patting  the  boy's  cheek. 
"  Run  along  then.  That  boy,  Mr.  Glanville,  looks 
for  all  the  world,  as  if  he  were  born  to  serve  at  Mass : 
and  he  has  eyes  which  seem  as  though  they  were  al- 
ways looking  at  Our  Lady." 

i43 


144        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

"  Come  and  sit  down,"  said  Glanville,  ignoring  the 
observation.  "  You  must  be  tired.  Why  you  're 
positively  limping.,, 

"  I  'm  afraid/'  replied  the  Father,  with  an  almost 
gay  laugh,  "  that  my  Order  is  one  that  won't  let  us 
boil  our  own  peas.  "  I  hope,  Mr.  Glanville,"  he  con- 
tinued, "you  won't  think  me  an  unconscionable  in- 
truder; but  as  every  Schism-shop  in  the  United 
Kingdom  is  sending  some  representative  to  this  Con- 
ference, our  Superior  has  asked  me  to  make  a  pro- 
test on  behalf  of  Catholic  Truth:  so  I  welcomed,  in- 
deed sought,  an  opportunity  of  putting  in  an  oar  here 
too.  Also,  l|r.  Glanville  —  and  here  the  murder 
comes  out  —  we  are  enjoined,  wherever  this  is  feas- 
ible, to  supplement  our  services  by  sending  the  hat 
round  afterwards.  It 's  not  always  pleasant  —  this 
pocket-picking  part  of  the  business  —  but  still  — " 

"  My  good  friend,"  said  Glanville,  touched  by  the 
Father's  embarrassment,  "  I  '11  collect  for  you,  and 
give  you  the  proceeds  afterwards.  And  now  refresh 
yourself.  You  look  ready  to  faint  —  and  here  's 
Mrs.  Jeffries  —  an  old  and  devoted  acquaintance." 

The  Father's  condition,  indeed,  when  observed 
closely,  was  almost  painful.  His  whole  nervous  sys- 
tem seemed  tremulous  with  some  chronic  excitement, 
and  he  looked  as  though  half  of  his  thoughts  were 
always  far  away.  Mrs.  Jeffries,  however,  who  was 
presently  clasping  both  his  hanads  in  her  own,  and 
was  pouring  the  rays  of  her  eyes  over  his  modestly 
averted  face,  apparently  exercised  a  soothing  influ- 
ence over  him.  When  he  was  asked  if  he  would 
have  some  tea-cake,  he  replied  almost  coquettishly 
"  I  should  love  some  " :  and  he  joined  in  the  conver- 


The  Church  to  the  World       145 

sation  of  the  party  with  a  subdued,  but  unaffected, 
ease.  At  length  Mrs.  Jeffries,  after  an  interchange 
of  certain  signs  and  whispers  with  him,  turned  to 
Glanville,  and  said  "  I  think  he  'd  like  me  to  show 
him  the  church:  and  should  you  object  to  my  asking 
your  butler  for  some  candles?  The  service  won't 
be  long.  If  we  have  it  at  seven,  it  will  be  over  be- 
fore dressing  time;  and  some  of  them  can  have,  as 
they  want  to  have,  a  game  of  Bridge  between 
whiles." 

Glanville  promised  that  everything  should  be  pre- 
cisely as  the  Father  wished;  and  the  Father  and  his 
disciple  went  off  together  accordingly. 

As  seven  o'clock  approached,  from  the  ultra-pro- 
testant  tower  a  bell  was  being  skilfully  tinkled  in  a 
manner  that  suggested  Italy:  and  the  visitors  once 
again  entered  the  great  pew.  The  body  of  the 
church  was  now  filled  with  twilight:  but  the  congre- 
gation found  itself  confronted  by  a  singular  spec- 
tacle which  at  once  made  all  its  members  feel  they 
had  done  well  in  coming.  This  was  the  transfigured 
chancel.  The  altar  and  the  altar  alone  was  shining 
with  a  constellation  of  lights;  and  Glanville  recog- 
nized an  array  of  his  own  dining-room  candlesticks, 
whose  intended  use  he  had,  indeed,  vaguely  sus- 
pected, when  he  extracted  them  from  the  care  of  his 
unwilling  but  unsuspicious  butler. 

There  was  for  a  minute  or  two  a  solemn  and  ex- 
pectant silence,  broken  only  by  a  whisper  from  Miss 
Hagley  to  Captain  Jeffries.  "  It 's  exactly  like  a 
Christmas  tree,"  and  by  his  reply  a  trifle  louder  than 
was  decorous  "  My  poor  old  father  would  turn  in  his 
grave  to  see  this."     Then  before  the  chancel  steps 


146        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

a  figure  was  seen  to  move,  as  though  some  religieuse 
were  lifting  herself  from  absorbed  devotion;  and 
another  figure  emerged  from  the  vestry  door,  on 
whose  white,  bewildering  vestments  was  a  glimmer 
of  vague  embroideries  —  a  figure  which  first  turned 
to  the  dining-room  candlesticks,  subsiding  before 
them  in  a  deep  prolonged  genuflexion;  and  then 
rose,  and,  advancing,  stationed  itself  on  the  ehancel 
step.  Here  it  raised  an  arm,  and  began  in  a  high 
voice,  "  In  nomine  Patris,  et  Filii  et  Spiritus  sancti 
—  in  nomine  Matris  Dei,  immaculatae,  semper  Vir- 
ginis,  atque  Omnium  Sanctorum,  Amen."  Then  to 
the  relief  of  the  excited  and  bewildered  audience 
Father  Skipton  dropped  into  the  language  of  his  na- 
tive country,  though  without  altering  either  the  pitch 
of  his  voice  or  his  intonation. 

"  I  propose  presently  to  say  to  you  a  few  words 
on  behalf  of  an  Order  which  represents  more  fully 
than  any  other  the  true  spirit  of  the  Anglo-Catholic 
Church.  The  Order  I  refer  to  is  the  Confraternity 
of  our  Blessed  Lady,  its  main  object  being  to  save 
our  beloved  country  from  the  infidel  criticism  and 
the  false  knowledge  of  to-day,  by  renewing  to  Her, 
the  most  pitiful  protectress  of  souls,  that  tribute  of 
true  devotion,  of  which  she  has  been  so  long  de- 
frauded. But  before  I  speak  further  about  this 
point,  I  will  ask  you  to  join  me  in  certain  acts  of  wor- 
ship which,  though  not  specifically  provided  for  in 
that  Book  of  Common  Prayer,  which  our  holy  ordi- 
nation vows  binds  us  to  accept  as  our  guide,  are  yet 
so  entirely  in  accordance  with  its  whole  spirit,  that 
they  may  be  said  to  be  written  by  implication  be- 
tween the  lines  of  its  Articles  and  of  its  Rubrics. 


The  Church  to  the  World       147 

First  join  with  me  then  in  the  Litany  of  the  Seven 
Sacraments." 

Having  said  this,  he  dropped  on  his  knees  where 
he  was,  and  ejaculated  the  names  of  the  Sacraments 
in  quick  succession,  beginning  with  "  Sacrament  of 
the  Font,  save  us,"  and  ending  with  "  Sacrament  of 
Extreme  Unction,  Save  us."      Then  rising  to  his 
feet,  "  Join  with  me,  now,"  he  said,  "  in  the  Litany 
of  Mary  of  England."     "Which  Mary  is  that?" 
whispered  Captain  Jeffries  in  bewilderment,  "  The 
wife    of    William,    or    t'other    one."      Meanwhile 
Father  Skipton  had  turned,  and  kneeling  at  one  end 
of  the  altar,  was  chanting  "  Oh,  vase  of  luscious 
spiritual  honey,  pray  that  the  savour  of  all  human 
knowledge  may  be  bitter  to  us,  and  make  our  tongues 
moist  with  thine  ineffable  and  most  dear  sweetness." 
Father  Skipton  had  a  genius  for  the  concrete,  which 
no  saint  of  the  Koman  Communion  could  ever  have 
aspired  to  equal:  and  presently,  following  a  manual 
of  his  own  composition,  he  was  exclaiming,  "  Hands 
of  Mary,  which  drip  with  myrrh,  fondle  us!  "  when 
a  sudden  response  was  made  for  the  first  time  from 
the  pew,  the  words  of  which,  to  say  the  truth,  were 
more  devotional  than  its  manner.     It  consisted  of 
two  simultaneous  exclamations  of  "  Good  God!  "  ac- 
companied by  a  stamp  of  two  pairs  of  impatient  feet : 
and  Lord  Kestormel  and  Mr.  Hancock  both  made  a 
noisy  exit.     "  It 's  Kome,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Hancock, 
"  pure,  unadulterated  Kome."  "  It 's  Kome,"  replied 
Lord  Kestormel,"adulterated  in  a  negative  way,  by  the 
absence  of  every  principle  that  has  held  the  Church 
of  Kome  together,  and  has  made  of  Transubstantia- 
tion  a  philosophically  conceivable  process."     Mean- 


148        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

while  Father  Skipton  within,  had  reached  another 
stage  of  his  proceedings.  "  And  lastly,"  he  was  say- 
ing, "  join  with  me  in  the  adoration  of  the  Absent 
Host  —  absent  from  our  altar  now,  but  not  to  be 
absent  long.  Let  us  make,"  he  said,  "  a  monstrance 
in  our  minds,  and  let  us  place  it  upon  the  High  Al- 
tar." Here  he  turned,  and  sinking  before  the  em- 
broidered medalion  of  the  altar-cloth  began,  "  Oh 
creatures  of  flour  and  water,  which  consecrated  by 
the  powers  truly  transmitted  from  the  Apostles  to 
the  Clergy  of  the  Church  of  England,  are  the  maker 
and  the  redeemer  of  our  souls,  we  adore  you.  Oh 
wafer  which  wast  before  all  worlds  we  adore  thee. 
O  almighty  wafer,  which  didst  create  the  universe, 
and  each  living  species,  and  suspendest  at  thy  will 
the  laws  which  thou  thyself  didst  make,  we  adore 
thee.  O  bleeding  and  all-pitiful  wafer,  which  didst 
die  for  men,  we  adore  thee." 

Over  the  occupants  of  the  pew  as  Father  Skipton 
proceeded,  his  voice  at  every  fresh  adjective  quiver- 
ing with  increased  intensity,  a  feeling  gradually  stole 
scarcely  less  intense  than  his  own.  One  after  an- 
other they  rose,  and  quickly  left  the  church,  most 
of  them  wearing  expressions  somewhat  resembling 
that  of  passengers  on  a  Dover  packet,  hurrying  to  the 
ship's  side.  Glanville  alone  remained,  waiting  to 
watch  the  end.  It  came  sooner  than  he  expected. 
Before  Father  Skipton  had  come  to  the  close  of  his 
Litany,  the  strength  of  his  emotions  overcame  him, 
and  he  seemed  to  collapse,  sobbing.  At  the  same  in- 
stant the  religieuse,  who  had  still  been  kneeling  be- 
fore the  chancel,  hastened  forward,  and  placed  her- 
self at  the  Father's  side.     Glanville;  as  quickly  as  he 


The  Church  to  the  World       149 

could,  made  his  way  to  the  spot  himself;  and  there 
he  found  Mrs.  Jeffries  holding  her  pastor's  hands. 
On  Glanville's  approach,  Father  Skipton  pulled  him- 
self together  with  an  effort.  He  stood  up,  and  still 
half  dazed,  was  led  by  the  others  into  the  vestry. 
Here,  in  a  short  time,  he  recovered  his  normal  condi- 
tion; and  with  it  came  back  a  touch  of  his  old  ease 
and  urbanity.  "  What  a  fellow  I  am,"  he  exclaimed 
as  they  helped  him  off  with  his  vestments,  "  to  break 
down  in  this  positively  absurd  way.  Humiliating  as 
it  is  to  confess,  I  must  have  rather  overdone  myself 
walking.  I  fear  I  am  hardly  up  to  even  my  little 
mite  of  a  sermon." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Glanville.  "  We  '11  consider 
your  sermon  preached:  especially  as  I  did  the  col- 
lecting before  you  began  your  service;  and  not  to 
trouble  you  with  a  pocketful  of  silver  and  sovereigns, 
it's  my  privilege  to  hand  you  this  ten-pound  note 
for  your  Order." 

Father  Skipton  thanked  him  with  eyes  that  were 
full  of  amazed  gratitude;  whilst  Mrs.  Jeffries,  who 
was  much  moved  also,  brought  her  drooping  head  so 
near  to  the  Father's  shoulder,  that  two  precious  tears 
were  left  on  his  sacred  garment:  and  with  reverent 
solicitude  having  then  helped  him  to  walk,  she  left 
behind  her  in  the  vestry  a  strong  smell  of  Parma 
violets. 

Of  all  the  exponents  of  the  mind  of  the  Church  of 
England  Father  Skipton  was  the  one  who  had  pro- 
duced the  most  poignant  impression.  All  his  hear- 
ers, with  the  exception  of  Mrs.  Jeffries  and  Canon 
Morgan,  had  been  reduced  by  his  performances  to  a 
condition  of  mind  melancholy.      Miss  Hagley  was 


150        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

heard  observing  with  much  frankness  at  dinner. 
"  I'd  a  great  deal  rather  be  a  Holy  Koman  at  once." 
The  Canon  contented  himself  with  saying  "  He  's  a 
queer  customer."  Glanville,  however,  took  the  bull 
by  the  horns,  and  having  placed  the  Father  next 
himself,  questioned  him  with  regard  to  his  Order, 
and  the  general  position  of  the  ritualists  whom  he 
and  his  Order  represented.  "  What  then,"  he  asked 
at  last,  prevents  you  from  joining  the  Church  of 
Eome?  You  reproduce  her  practices;  you  appro- 
priate every  one  of  her  doctrines." 

The  Father  who  had  hitherto  been  replying  with  a 
sweet  meekness,  here  sniffed,  and  exhibited  a  spirit 
that  seemed  to  be  almost  irritable.  "  The  doctrines 
and  the  practices  to  which  I  presume  that  you  al- 
lude," he  said,  "  are  ours  by  right,  as  much  as,  or 
even  more  than  they  are  hers.  Still,  if  you  care  to  put 
it  so,  we  do  adhere  to  her  doctrines :  but  what  we  pro- 
test against  to  the  death  is  the  absurd  claim  to  au- 
thority on  which  Rome  professes  to  base  them.  I 
assure  you,  Mr.  Glanville,  next  to  the  authority  of 
the  Pope  of  Rome  himself,  the  most  despicable  thing 
in  our  eyes  is  that  of  our  own  bishops.  Fancy  being 
controlled,  for  instance,  by  a  man  like  the  Bishop  of 
Glastonbury.  Our  bishops  transmit  to  us  the  orders 
of  the  Apostles:  but  I  doubt  very  much  if  there  is 
one  of  them  who  is  fit  to  give  us  any  of  his  own. 
Ah,"  he  said,  indulging  himself  in  a  half-glass  of 
champagne,  "this  reminds  me  of  the  old  days  at 
Trinity." 


BOOK  IV 
The  World  to  the  Church 


CHAPTER    I 

DINNER  on  the  previous  evening  had  hardly 
reached  its  conclusion,  when  news  was  brought 
of  the  advent  of  Sir  Roderick  Harborough's  yacht, 
which,  in  due  time,  had  carried  his  party  away  with 
him,  including  Canon  Morgan  and  Father  Skipton, 
who  were  to  be  landed  by  midnight  at  Ballyfergus. 
The  others  were  now  collected  in  a  nook  of  the  sea- 
ward garden,  and  having  since  yesterday  refreshed 
themselves  by  a  rest  from  sermons  and  argument, 
were  at  last  preparing  in  the  warmth  of  the  leisurely 
afternoon,  to  enter  on  their  first  Conference,  the  sub- 
ject of  which,  as  arranged,  was  to  be  clerical  and 
miraculous  Christianity. 

The  serious  nature  of  the  discussion  which  lay  be- 
fore them,  produced  amongst  some  a  certain  shyness 
and  hesitancy,  as  though  they  were  doubtful  of  the 
tone  that  would  best  suit  the  occasion.  Mr.  Han- 
cock, however;  who  had  appeared  a  moment  before, 
looking  very  happy  and  dapper  in  a  new  suit  of  grey 
tweed,  and  carrying  in  his  hand  a  little  bundle  of 
papers,  was  evidently  in  no  uncertainty:  and  on  Lady 
Snowdon's  suggesting  that  he  should,  to  his  duties  as 

151 


152        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

secretary,  add  those  of  a  sort  of  informal  Chairman, 
everyone  else  very  gladly  agreed. 

"  Sit  down  then  there,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  with 
a  placid  air  of  command.  "  That  is  the  Secretary's 
table.     Everything  has  been  got  ready  for  you." 

Mr.  Hancock,  who  at  all  events  had  the  merit  of  de- 
cision, at  once  struck  what  to  him  seemed  the  proper 
spiritual  key-note,  by  giving  the  table  a  few  facetious 
raps  with  a  pencil.  "  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,"  he 
said,  "  may  I  ask  if  you  are  all  ready?  Then,  in  that 
case,  I  declare  our  first  Conference  opened.  And 
now  let  me  remind  you  that  as  our  Conferences  are 
to  consist  of  a  little  series,  we  are  proposing  to  dis- 
cuss a  separate  question  in  each ;  and  in  each  we  must 
do  our  best  to  keep  strictly  to  our  immediate  point. 
Let  me  then,  put  clearly  before  you  what  our  open- 
ing question  is.  As  you  all  know,  and  have  agreed, 
our  subject  this  afternoon  is  to  be  Christianity. 
Well,  Christianity  is  a  subject  about  which,  yester- 
day and  the  day  before,  we,  privileged  people,  have 
heard  so  much  and  so  many  things,  that  we  may  be 
excused  if  we  find  it  necessary  to  define  what  we 
really  mean  by  it.  We  will  then  begin  with  defining 
what  we  mean  by  the  thing;  and  we  then  will  de- 
fine clearly  the  questions  which  we  mean  to  ask  about 
it.  First,  then,  for  the  thing.  Some  people  mean 
by  Christianity  merely  the  moral  appeal  which  the 
teaching  of  Christ  makes  to  us.  We  are  not  this 
afternoon  going  to  touch  upon  this  at  all." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  it  seems  to 
me,  Mr.  Hancock,  that  we  are  going  to  leave  the 
essence  of  Christianity  out." 

"  If  such  is  your  opinion,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  I 


The  World  to  the  Church      153 

am  glad.  You  will  run  no  risk  of  being  offended  by 
anything  we  may  have  to  say.  We  shall  put  this 
essence  —  this  personal  appeal  of  Christianity,  which 
many  people  find  so  moving  —  on  one  side,  well  out 
of  harm's  way,  o.nd  confine  ourselves  exclusively  to 
the  consideration  of  certain  alleged  events  which  the 
Christian  Churches  associate  with  it,  and  from  which, 
Sunday  by  Sunday,  they  declare  it  to  be  absolutely 
inseparable.  Of  these  events  Mr.  Glanville  and  I 
have  made  a  list,  reducing  them  to  a  minimum. 
They  resolve  themselves  into  four  groups.  Let  me 
read  the  short  list  out  to  you. 

"  First  group.  The  first  man  and  woman,  from 
whom  all  the  human  race  descends,  came  into  the 
world  perfect,  and  seeing  God  face  to  face:  but  on 
some  particular  day  of  some  particular  year,  at  some 
particular  place  in  Asia,  this  lonely  couple  chose  to 
do  something  or  other  which  plunged  them  from  a 
state  of  perfection  into  one  of  sorrow  and  wicked- 
ness. In  this  condition  they  began  to  propagate, 
children,  and  transmitted  to  all  their  descendants  the 
curses  they  had  drawn  down  on  themselves. 

"  Second  group.  From  the  date  of  the  Fall  for  at 
least  two  thousand  years,  the  human  race  as  it  mul- 
tiplied went  from  bad  to  worse,  and  the  primal  re- 
ligion was  very  nearly  forgotten,  when  God  picked 
out  a  single  Asiatic  household,  and  made  a  new  reve- 
lation of  Himself,  in  strictest  confidence,  to  the  head 
of  it. 

"  Third  group.  As  the  household  in  question 
grew  into  a  small  tribe,  God  constantly  interfered 
for  its  convenience  with  the  ordinary  course  of  na- 
ture;   and  also  continued  to  it  his  supernatural  con- 


154         The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

fidences.  These  were  recorded,  under  His  own  im- 
mediate direction,  in  a  series  of  writings  known  as 
The  Old  Testament,  whose  authority  differs  in  kind 
from  that  of  all  other  ancient  histories.  They  give 
us  God's  own  account  of  the  origin  of  the  human 
race ;  and  also  contain  a  number  of  emphatic,  though 
obscure  predictions,  that  some  fuller  revelation  was 
in  course  of  time  to  follow. 

"  Fourth  group.  After  another  period  of  about 
two  thousand  years,  during  which  the  mass  of  man- 
kind was  left  groping  in  its  natural  darkness,  this 
ulterior  revelation  was  accomplished  by  an  act  even 
more  astounding  than  the  creation  of  the  Universe 
itself.  The  Creator  of  the  Universe  assumed  the 
form  of  a  man,  becoming  through  a  mortal  mother 
the  immortal  father  of  Himself.  In  this  condition 
he  died  the  death  of  a  thief,  for  the  sake  of  the  dis- 
astrous victims  of  his  first  creative  experiment.  He 
then  came  to  bodily  life  again,  and  taking  his  body 
with  Him,  visibly  rose  in  the  air,  deserting  the 
earth's  surface,  and  somehow  or  other,  in  some  un- 
explained way,  permanently  united  this  body,  which 
had  lately  been  eating  broiled  fish,  to  the  spiritual 
and  eternal  omnipotence  which  created  the  stars  and 
will  survive  them. 

"  Well,"  continued  Mr.  Hancock,  "  the  Christian- 
ity of  the  creeds  and  Churches  differs  only  from  some 
form  of  natural  theism,  because  it  obstinately  asserts 
that  these  four  groups  of  events  —  to  say  nothing 
of  others  —  are  actual,  literal,  objective  facts  of  his- 
tory: and  it  is  this  distinctive,  this  challenging  asser- 
tion, made  by  all  the  Churches,  that  we  mean  now  by 
Christianity. 


The  World  to  the  Church       155 

"  So  much,  then,  for  the  thing  which  is  to  form  the 
subject  of  our  discussions.  Let  us  now  define  the 
question  which  we  are  going  to  ask  about  it.  J 
might,  if  left  to  myself,  be  inclined  to  put  it  in  this 
way,  Why,  since  so  lately  as  fifty  years  ago,  the  above 
events  were  believed  in  by  the  great  mass  of  educated 
people,  are  educated  people  to-day,  all  over  the  world, 
rejecting  them?  But  though  Mrs.  Yernon  thinks 
that  these  events  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  heart 
of  the  matter,  still  I  feel  her  eye  on  me,  and  I  must 
be  careful.  Perhaps  she  will  allow  us  to  say  that 
these  events  are  being  rejected  by  a  number  of  edu- 
cated people  so  large  and  so  widely  distributed,  that 
their  conduct  cannot  be  due  to  chance  or  mere  pri- 
vate perversity.  There  must  be  some  wide  imper- 
sonal cause  at  the  back  of  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Yernon,  "  nobody  can  object  ta» 
that." 

"  Good,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  then  our  question 
will  stand  thus.  It  being  admitted  by  all  of  you 
that  there  is,  throughout  the  civilized  world,  a  grow- 
ing disbelief  in  the  events  which  have  just  been 
briefly  summarized,  what  are  the  general  causes  to 
which  this  change  is  due  ?  " 

"  Bravo !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Brompton.  "  Mr.  Glan- 
ville,  that  summary  was  admirable." 

"  I  am,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  by  no  means  so 
sure  of  that.  In  one  case,  at  all  events,  I  thought 
things  were  put  too  crudely.  My  Roman  Catholic 
brother  —  in  our  family  we  have  several  religions 
and  irreligions  —  was  always  quoting  the  opinion  of 
St.  Augustine  that  the  story  of  Adam  and  the  apple 
was  only  true  allegorically.     Now  may  not  all  the 


156        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

other  events  you  mentioned  be  softened  down  by  the 
Church  in  something  the  same  way,  so  as  to  make 
them  seem  rather  more  —  well  —  more  vraisem- 
blable  to  the  modern  mind  ? " 

"  If,"  said  Glanville,  "  we  treat  the  whole  lot  as 
allegories,  which  the  human  soul  has  made  for  itself 
as  expressive  of  its  own  needs  and  nature,  I  believe 
that  they  would  gain  as  a  revelation  of  what  man  is, 
more  than  they  would  lose  as  histories  of  what  he  is 
supposed  to  have  done,  or  have  had  done  for  him. 
For  instance,  that  man  should  have  imagined  such  an 
event  as  is  referred  to  in  a  passage  which  I  caught 
myself  repeating  the  other  day  at  the  theatre  — 
'  who  for  us  men  and  for  our  salvation  came  down 
from  heaven ' —  I  say  that  men  should  have  imag- 
ined and  believed  in  such  an  event  as  this  is  in  some 
ways  more  significant  than  the  event  would  have 
been  itself." 

"  I,"  said  Seaton,  "  entirely  agree  with  you  as  to 
that." 

"  I  ?m  very  much  afraid,"  interposed  Mr.  Hancock 
blandly,  "  that,  interesting  as  all  this  is,  it  is  beside 
our  present  point.  The  significance  of  the  Christian 
creeds  apart  from  their  objective  truth  —  it 's  an 
interesting  —  a  most  interesting  subject;  but  it  be- 
longs to  a  future  discussion.  At  the  present  mo- 
ment, in  dealing  with  the  events  before  us,  we  have 
pledged  ourselves  to  consider  their  objective  truth 
only." 

"  You  're  quite  right,"  said  Glanville.  "  Keep  our 
noses  to  the  grindstone.  To  go  back,  then,  to  Lady 
Snowdon's  objection,  the  immediate  point  is  this. 
St.  Augustine  did  get  out  of  the  more  obvious  difiicul- 


The  World  to  the  Church       157 

ties  involved  in  the  story  of  the  Fall,  by  saying  that 
the  incident  of  the  apple  and  the  snake  was  an  alle- 
gory: but  he  meant  that  under  the  allegory  lay  a  defi- 
nite historical  fact,  which  he  not  only  did  not  try  to 
get  out  of,  but  on  which,  like  the  Church  in  general, 
he  deliberately  built  his  whole  scheme  of  theology. 
This  is  the  fact  that,  as  Mr.  Hancock  has  just  read 
out,  the  whole  human  race  descends  from  a  single 
couple,  who  were  originally  perfect,  but  who  ceased 
to  be  so  at  some  definite  date;  and  that  all  the  evil 
in  man,  and  all  the  discords  in  nature,  are  as  literally 
due  to  this  historical  act,  as  an  octoroon's  curly  hair 
is  due  to  some  infusion  of  negro  blood.  Well  the 
modern  world  —  or  at  any  rate,  a  considerable  sec- 
tion of  it  —  has  become  incapable,  during  the  past 
fifty  years,  of  believing  that  any  event  of  the  kind, 
ever  took  place  at  all.  And  why  has  it  become  in- 
capable? Partly  for  the  reason,  to  which  I  will 
come  back  presently,  that  there  is  no  evidence  for 
it ;  but  mainly  for  the  reason  that  the  evidence  of  all 
modern  knowledge  is  against  it.  However  we  en- 
quire of  nature,  we  learn  that  pain  and  death  were 
long  antecedent  to  man;  and  as  to  man  himself,  we 
learn  that  with  his  faults,  he  is  not  the  fallen  descen- 
dant of  creatures  who  were  almost  angels,  but  the 
developed  descendant  of  creatures  who  were  very 
little  more  than  monkeys.  Thus  the  whole  Christ- 
ian conception  of  human  history,  has,  by  a  series  of 
discoveries  which  not  even  clergymen  question,  been 
torn  up  by  the  roots,  and  simply  turned  upside 
down." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Seaton,  "  if  I  may  put  in  a 
word  for  the  poor  Bible,  I  should  say  that  the  story 


158        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

of  the  Fall,  though  not  true  as  allegorical  history, 
is  none  the  less  true  as  a  piece  of  allegorical  psychol- 
ogy; and  that  the  Churches  are  wiser  than  they 
know — " 

"  Mr.  Seaton,  Mr.  Seaton,"  said  Mr.  Hancock, 
"  that  's  not  to  the  point.  History  —  plain  history 
—  that  is  our  business  now." 

"  You  observe,  Alistair,"  said  Glanville,  "  we  We 
a  very  impartial  chairman.  Well  —  as  to  our  first 
group  of  events,  which  the  Churches  assert  to  be  his- 
torical, we  see  one  very  conclusive  reason  for  the 
world's  contemptuous  rejection  of  it.  Let  us  now 
go  on  to  the  second  group  which  is,  for  miraculous 
Christianity  as  important  as  the  Fall  itself.  I  mean 
God's  covenant  with  Abraham,  and  his  selection  of 
him  and  his  family  as  the  exclusive  recipients  of  a 
second  supernatural  revelation.  Now  as  to  this,  it 
would  really  be  enough  to  say  that  apart  from  the 
Fall  it  is  a  story  which  has  no  meaning:  nor  could  we 
in  any  case,  regard  it  as  inherently  probable  that  the 
Creator  of  the  Universe,  out  of  pity  for  his  unhappy 
children,  should  confine  the  secret  of  salvation  as  an 
heirloom  to  one  elderly  gentleman,  who  proved  his 
pre-eminent  fitness  for  this  stupendous  favor  by  his 
willingness  to  murder  his  son,  and  roast  his  limbs  on 
a  bon-fire.  Nobody  then  could  treat  this  story  seri- 
ously unless  it  should  be  attested  by  evidence  of  the 
strongest  kind;  and  of  what  does  the  evidence  con- 
sist? Of  two  or  three  chapters  in  the  middle  of  the 
Book  of  Genesis  —  a  book  the  beginning  of  which 
science  definitely  shows  to  be  false,  and  the  larger 
part  of  which  even  bishops  admit  to  be  legendary. 
And  now  I  may  hurry  on  to  group  of  events  number 


The  World  to  the  Church       159 

three,  which  practically  gives  us  the  second  and  also 
the  first  over  again.  For  this  third  group  of  alleged 
miraculous  events,  and  also  for  the  first  and  second, 
our  sole  authority  is  contained  in  the  Old  Testament, 
the  miraculous  composition  of  whose  books  is  one  of 
these  events  itself,  and  for  our  present  purpose  the 
most  important  of  them.  The  belief  which  was  once 
general  in  the  supernatural  authority  of  these  books, 
not  only  affords  us  our  sole  ostensible  evidence  that 
the  Fall,  the  election  of  Abraham,  and  God's  miracu- 
lous dealings  with  the  Jews,  were  actually  facts  of 
history;  but  they  stand  alone  in  even  suggesting  to 
our  fancies  that  they  may  have  been.  Well,  Mrs. 
Vernon,  to  go  back  once  more  to  Genesis.  You 
know  as  well  as  any  of  us,  that  if  anything  has  been 
established  by  Biblical  criticism  at  all,  this  funda- 
mental Book,  which  was  accepted  till  very  lately,  as 
having  been  written  by  Moses  under  the  direct  dic- 
tation of  the  Deity,  is  really  a  late  patch-work  of  dif- 
ferent and  conflicting  myths.  Even  Jeffries  has 
managed  to  learn  as  much  as  this  at  Newmarket. 
But  I  am  able  to  refer  Mrs.  Vernon  to  a  far  more 
appropriate  witness,  I  mean  our  friend  the  Bishop  of 
Glastonbury.  According  to  him  —  according  to  this 
severe  High  Churchman  —  not  Genesis  only,  but  the 
whole  of  the  Old  Testament  is,  as  he  puts  it,  a  book 
'  so  richly  composite/  that  all  its  science  is  false,  ex- 
cept a  few  scattered  hints,  most  of  its  history  inac- 
curate, most  of  its  miracles  legendary,  much  of  its 
morality  damnable:  that  the  writers  or  compilers 
were  conditioned,  no  less  than  Homer  or  Herodotus, 
by  the  ignorances  of  their  respective  epochs;  and  if 
the  Churches  are  to  maintain  the  reality  of  any 


160        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

miracles  at  all,  they  must  pick  out  a  few  from  this 
dust-heap,  by  some  modern  spiritual  process  —  the 
fewer  the  better  —  and  ask  the  world  to  accept 
them  as  chief  facts  of  ancient  history,  and  also  the 
most  absolutely  certain  ones.  When  bishops  are 
driven  to  defend  the  Old  Testament  miracles  thus, 
can  any  one  wonder  that  the  educated  world  at  large 
should  reject  the  whole  miraculous  antecedents  of 
the  Christian  religion  as  false?  The  world's  conduct 
may  be  wrong,  Mrs.  Vernon;  but  it  is  surely  very 
intelligible." 

"  I  do  n't,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  pretend  to  be  good 
at  argument;  but  I  can  't  help  feeling  that  somehow 
there  's  a  sort  of  something  that  can  be  said  in  an- 
swer to  all  this  —  or  anyhow  in  partial  answer  to  it. 
I  was  told  once  by  a  friend  of  mine  to  read  Dr.  San- 
day's  writings,  as  he  put  the  case  for  belief  in  an  ab- 
solutely convincing  way,  I  could  n't  do  so  at  the  time, 
because  I  had  to  go  to  Ascot.  But  I  think  his  no- 
tion is  this,  that  if  we  go  to  the  Gospels  —  I  hope  Mr. 
Hancock  won 't  tell  me  I  'm  not  keeping  to  the 
point,  for  I  am  —  that  if  we  go  to  the  Gospels,  and 
feel  what  the  spirit  of  Christianity  is,  and  the  influ- 
ence of  Christ,  and  so  on,  we  find  ourselves  sur- 
rounded by  a  new  atmosphere  of  wonder  and  rever- 
ence and  all  sorts  of  things  become  credible,  such  as 
the  Kesurrection,  the  Ascension,  or  the  cursing  of 
the  barren  fig-tree,  which  in  cold  blood  we  should 
laugh  at." 

"I  can't  rule,"  said  Mr.  Hancock  pleasantly, 
"that  Mrs.  Vernon  is  not  keeping  to  our  point;  I 
will  only  remark  that  she  's  running  a  little  ahead  of 
us.     We  have  thus  far  been  considering  the   Old 


The  World  to  the  Church       161 

Testament  only.  She  has  got  already  into  the  New. 
Perhaps  she  will  defer  her  criticisms  till  Mr.  Glan- 
ville  has  said  his  say  about  our  fourth  group  of  al- 
leged historical  events,  for  which  the  New  Testa- 
ment is  our  sole  documentary  evidence." 

"  I  have,"  said  Glanville,  "  though  I  gather  that 
Mrs.  Vernon  has  not,  read  some  of  Dr.  Sanday's 
writings.  I  will  refer  her  presently  to  one  or  two  of 
his  conclusions.  Meanwhile  I  so  far  agree  both 
with  her  and  him  as  to  recognize  that  an  overwhelm- 
ing reverence  for  some  great  moral  teacher,  does  pre- 
dispose the  mind  —  or  perhaps  I  should  say  the  im- 
agination —  to  associate  his  life  with  events  as  ab- 
normal and  impressive  as  his  character.  But  this 
predisposition  is  unfortunately  so  general,  that  it  ap- 
plies to  the  lives  of  Buddha,  of  Zoroaster,  of  Ma- 
homet, and  of  most  great  religious  leaders,  no  less 
than  to  that  of  Christ :  so  we  cannot  in  Christ's  case 
any  more  than  in  theirs,  accept  it  as  a  substitute  for 
other  and  more  definite  evidence.  Let  us  then  take 
the  three  main  miracles  associated  with  the  life  of 
Christ,  which  orthodox  Christianity  insists  on  as  the 
very  hall-marks  of  its  Lord's  divinity  —  his  birth 
without  a  human  father,  his  bodily  resurrection,  and 
his  ascension:  and  let  us  see  what,  apart  from  pre- 
disposition, the  evidence  in  their  favor  comes  to. 
Of  course  that  the  Gospels  are  in  the  main  historical, 
nobody  doubts.  They  are  memoirs  of  the  life  of  a 
man  the  dates  of  whose  birth  and  death  are  as  well 
known  as  those  of  Queen  Anne  or  of  Julius  Caesar: 
nor  is  there  any  reason  for  doubting  that  the  char- 
acter of  his  teaching,  and  the  ordinary  incidents  of 
his  career,  are  given  in  the  Gospels  with  very  sub- 


162        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

stantial  accuracy.  But  when  we  come  to  those  por- 
tents which  alone  concern  us  now  we  find  that  the 
evidence  in  favor  of  their  truth  is  as  weak  as  the 
evidence  in  favor  of  the  ordinary  incidents  is  strong. 
Criticism  has  dealt  with  the  New  Testament  just  as 
it  dealt  with  the  Old.  It  has  shown  us  that  the  Gos- 
pels are  documents,  largely  composite,  which  owe 
their  origin  to  human  minds  and  memories;  and  thai 
if  we  criticize  them  at  all,  we  must  criticize  them 
as  ordinary  books.  Well,  Mrs.  Yernon  —  to  begin 
with  the  miraculous  birth  —  as  soon  as  scholars  be- 
gan to  criticize  the  Gospels  thus,  they  realized  that 
the  accounts  of  the  miraculous  birth  of  Christ  were 
entirely  absent  from  the  earlier  versions  of  their 
writings;  and  orthodox  divines  have  been  driven  to 
account  for  the  fact  by  supposing  that  Mary,  in  her 
extreme  old  age,  confided  her  secret  to  a  Church, 
which  had  never  before  suspected  it;  and  that  thus 
late  in  the  day,  it  was  included  in  her  Son's  biog- 
raphies. I  may  also  remind  you  of  another  curious 
fact,  which  is  now  for  the  first  time  invested  with  its 
obvious  meaning  —  the  fact  that  in  the  pedigree 
giving  Christ's  descent  from  Abraham,  the  descent 
is  traced  not  through  Mary  but  Joseph.  Can  you 
wonder,  Mrs.  Vernon,  that,  these  things  being  so, 
many  people  reject  the  miraculous  birth  of  the  sec- 
ond Adam,  just  as  completely  as  they  reject  the 
mysterious  Fall  of  the  first?  Let  us,  however,  go 
on  to  events  which  are  even  more  important  —  the 
alleged  Kesurrection  and  Ascension.  Fortunately 
here  my  personal  responsibilities  may  end;  for  in- 
stead of  inflicting  on  you  any  arguments  of  my  own, 
I  need  merely  refer  you  to  the  sermon  of  that  pillar 


The  World  to  the  Church       163 

of  the  Church,  Canon  Morgan.  I  hope,  Mrs.  Ver- 
non, you  listened  to  it." 

"  I  did,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  and  though  I  'm  all 
for  treating  things  liberally  —  well,  Canon  Mor- 
gan's sermon  went  beyond  the  bounds  of  decency. 
He  tried  to  do,  what  I  certainly  do  n't  think  you  do, 
to  discredit  the  chief  events  on  which  his  religion  de- 
pends, by  giving  us  a  burlesque  parallel  to  them,  the 
sole  object  of  which,  so  far  as  I  could  see,  was  not 
to  prove  them  false,  but  to  make  them  appear  ridicu- 
lous. He  only  failed  to  do  this  because  his  parallels 
was  so  forced  and  stupid.  I  suppose  in  his  heart  of 
hearts  what  he  really  aims  at  is  notoriety.  He 
can  't  resist  the  pleasure  of  attracting  attention  by 
startling  people." 

"  Poor  Canon  Morgan,"  said  Glanville,  "  you 
wrong  him  greatly.  He  ought  n't  to  say  what  he 
does,  dressed  up  in  a  surplice,  and  making  clerical 
faces  at  us  over  a  pulpit-cushion;  but  the  things 
which  offended  you  in  his  sermon  —  do  you  mean 
that  you  did  n't  follow  him?  That  story  of  his  about 
the  medium,  and  the  four  writers,  was  no  wanton 
burlesque.  It  gave  us,  as  he  said,  and  as  you  do  n't 
seem  to  have  understood,  a  series  of  minute  equiva- 
lents to  the  differences  between  the  four  Gospels  in 
their  accounts  of  events  which,  if  real  were  so  dis- 
tinct and  astounding,  that  there  must  have  been  at 
least  a  complete  fundamental  agreement  between  the 
impressions  left  by  them  on  the  memories  of  their 
awed  eye-witnesses.  But  the  Canon's  parable 
showed  us  what  anybody  who  reads  the  New  Testa- 
ment can  find  out  for  himself,  though  I  never  heard 
it  before  put  in  so  plain  a  way,  that  between  the  four 


1 64        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

evangelists  no  such  agreement  exists.     I  dare  say, 
Mrs.  Vernon,  you  may  not  have  noticed  that  they  do 
not  agree  even  as  to  the  day  of  the  Last  Supper. 
Three  of  them  give  it  as  Friday  the  Feast  of  the 
Passover.     The  fourth  emphatically  gives  it  as  the 
Thursday  before  the  feast.     I  daresay,"  Glanville 
continued,  "  you  never  noticed  either  that  with  re- 
gard to  the  embalming  and  swathing  of  Christ,  and 
the  committal  of  his  body  to  the  tomb,  and  the  sub- 
sequent visit  to  the  tomb  when  his  body  was  dis- 
covered to  be  missing,  the  evangelists  differ  as  hope- 
lessly or  even  more  so,  than  Canon  Morgan's  imagin- 
ary writers  differed  in  their  imaginary  accounts  of 
the  locking  up  of  the  medium  and  the  subsequent 
discovery  of  her  escape : —  whilst  as  to  the  final  event 
—  the  crowning  event  of  the  Ascension,  you  prob- 
ably remember  one  detail  at  any  rate.     The  dis- 
ciples were  told  to  look  for  their  risen  Lord  in  Gali- 
lee—  a   journey    of   some    days   from   Jerusalem. 
Well  — the  only  account  of  the  incident  which  is 
given  in  any  detail,  is  that  given  by  Luke;    and  ac- 
cording to  him,  when  did  it  happen  and  where?     As 
to  the  when,  it  happened  on  the  very  day  of  the 
resurrection ;  and  as  to  the  where,  it  happened  close 
by,  at  Bethany.     Was  our  Canon  indulging  in  mere 
burlesque  after  all,  when  he  made  his  four  writers 
unable  to  agree  between  themselves,  whether  the 
medium  was  levitated  at  Edinburgh,  or  on  Primrose 
Hill  ?     If  the  Canon  were  only  as  courageous  in  re- 
signing his  orders  as  he  is  in  showing  us  that  he  is  not 
fit  to  retain  them,  I  should  respect  him  as  a  preacher, 
without  despising  him  as  a  priest." 


The  World  to  the  Church       165 

"  Hear,  hear,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Brompton,  in  a  hol- 
low and  interesting  undertone. 

"I  don't  want  you,  Mrs.  Vernon,"  continued 
Glanville,  "to  accept  all  this  on  my  authority,  or 
even  on  the  Canon's.  Just  take  to-night  a  look  at  your 
own  New  Testament,  and  see  if  it 's  not  true :  and 
if  you  find  it  to  be  true,  you  will  recognize  one  of 
the  reasons  why  the  world  is  rejecting  as  fabulous 
our  fourth  group  of  events,  no  less  than  the  other 
three;  and  the  whole  supernatural  framework  of 
traditional  Christianity  along  with  it.  I  do  n't  ask 
you  to  accept  this  reason  as  conclusive.  I  only  want 
to  show  you  that  it  is  intelligible.  Indeed,"  he  went 
on,  "  if  this  reason  stood  alone,  I  doubt  if  it  would 
be  found  conclusive  by  the  world  generally,  or  by 
myself." 

"What,"  said  Mr.  Brompton  in  a  tone  of  scan- 
dalized dismay,  "  what  can  you  want  more  ?  In  all 
conscience  this  is  conclusive  enough." 

"  There  is  —  in  the  background,"  said  Glanville, 
"  a  reason  stronger  than  the  inherent  improbability 
of  our  groups  of  events  separately,  or  any  collapse  of 
the  old  evidence  in  their  favor.  I  propose  presently 
to  put  this  reason  before  you,  in  a  way  which  is  al- 
most as  novel  as  our  excellent  Canon's  sermon:  but 
first  I  am  going,  if  you  will  let  me,  to  address  one 
remark  to  Mr.  Brompton." 

Mr.  Brompton  looked  up,  enchanted  to  be  the  ob- 
ject of  any  attention. 

"I  have  always  thought,"  said  Glanville,  "that 
your  former  Church,  Mr.  Brompton,  enjoys  a  pro- 
found advantage  which,  in  all  other  Churches,  is  con- 
spicuously and  ridiculously  wanting.     This  is  the 


1 66        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

authority  attached  by  her  to  her  own  organized  tra- 
ditions. The  Mind  of  the  Church,  as  the  Bishop  of 
Glastonbury  understands  it  is  a  cloud  —  never  of  the 
same  shape  in  two  pulpits  at  once.  It  can  't  even 
agree  with  itself  that  it  has  any  real  existence.  But 
the  Koman  Church  seems  from  the  very  beginning  to 
have  been  unconsciously  preparing  itself  for  the  day 
when  the  old  objective  evidences  should  lose  their 
independent  force.  She  has  supplied  herself  theo- 
retically with  the  means  of  being  herself  the  evidence 
of  these.  Instead  of  declaring  that  she  is  true  because 
she  agrees  with  the  Bible,  she  declares  that  the  Bible 
is  true  because  it  agrees  with  Her.  I  mention  this 
because  it  has  a  direct  bearing  on  that  farther  and 
that  deeper  reason,  for  the  disbelief  of  to-day,  which 
I  am  going  to  point  out  presently." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Brompton:  "  this  corporate  and 
organized  infallibility,  which  turns  its  traditions  into 
a  kind  of  miraculous  memory,  and  its  inventions  into 
a  miraculous  insight,  is,  as  you  say,  in  theory,  the 
strength  of  my  late  Church.  In  practice  it  is  her 
supreme  weakness.  Protestantism  is  a  raft  of  logs. 
Break  this  up,  and  each  log  for  a  time  may  support 
a  swimmer.  But  the  Barque  of  Peter  is  a  vessel  built 
of  tin.  Make  one  hole  in  it  anywhere,  and  down  it 
goes  to  the  bottom." 

"  Very  well  put,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  very  well 
put,  indeed." 

"  And  now,"  said  Glanville,  "  I  'm  going  to  make 
an  observation  of  a  practical,  not  of  a  theoretical 
kind.  In  twenty  minutes  it  will  be  tea-time.  I  've 
ordered  tea  at  the  other  end  of  the  garden;  and 
what  I  propose  is  that  we  finish  our  discussion  there. 


The  World  to  the  Church       167 

Meanwhile  we  '11  have  an  interval  for  mental  as  well 
as  for  physical  refreshment :  and  I  '11  show  you  now, 
if  you  '11  come  with  me,  what  I  did  n't  show  you  on 
Saturday  —  my  collection  of  antiquities,  which  is 
reposing  in  that  building  behind  the  fuchsias.  You 
notice,  Mrs.  Vernon,  that  my  museum  adjoins  the 
church  which  was  echoing  yesterday  with  Mr.  Max- 
well's disquisitions  on  Hezekiah,  and  which  witnessed 
Father  Skipton's  mimicries  of  the  abominations  of 
the  Spiritual  Samaria." 


CHAPTER   II 

GLANVILLE'S  proposal,  though  its  abruptness 
created  some  surprise,  was  by  no  means  dis- 
agreeable to  his  friends.  The  door  of  the  museum 
was  ajar,  as  though  expecting  their  advent;  and  they 
made  their  way  into  the  somewhat  musty  interior 
with  pleased  feelings  of  curiosity.  The  walls  were 
lined  with  shelves,  supporting  many  dust-covered  ob- 
jects which,  as  Glanville  observed  cursorily,  had  been 
brought  from  Italy  by  the  Bishop.  It  was  evidently 
not  these  that  the  party  had  been  asked  to  look  at, 
but  two  other  collections  which  occupied  the  floor  of 
the  building,  and  were  raised  for  inspection  on  brand- 
new  wooden  platforms. 

"  Here  on  the  right,"  said  Glanville,  are  the  re- 
sults of  my  labors  in  Asia  Minor.  We  '11  take  these 
first,  and  those  on  the  left  afterwards.  These  things 
came  from  a  Graeco-Eoman  watering-place,  of  which 
I  am  the  first  explorer.  Some  of  them  have  merely 
an  architectural  interest.  I  want  you  to  look  at  the 
others,  which  illustrate  domestic  life.  I  found  them 
in  two  houses  which  were  covered  up  by  a  land-slip. 
Look  at  these  pans  and  strainers;  look  at  this  pair  of 
tongs  and  these  two  ingenious  weighing-machines: 
at  these  hand  mirrors ;  and  these  beautiful  little  pots 
which  still  have  inside  them  a  few  grains  of  tooth- 
powder:  and  then,  again,  look  at  these  painted  panels. 
The  pictures  are  dim  and  damaged;  but  still  you  can 

168 


The  World  to  the  Church      169 

make  out  there  a  party  lying  at  dinner,  and  there 
the  corner  of  a  garden.  These  things  take  us  back 
some  seventeen  hundred  years." 

"  And  it  seems,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  trying  to  smell 
the  tooth-powder,  "  as  if  we  could  almost  shake  hands 
with  the  people  who  lived  across  that  gulf  of  time." 

"  Well,"  said  Glanville,  when  his  party  had  fin- 
ished their  inspection,  "  let  us  now  take  the  things 
opposite.  Here,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  we  have  models 
and  copies  only:  but  they  are  all  absolutely  accu- 
rate." 

The  chief  spectacle  which  they  were  now  invited 
to  contemplate  was  a  large  and  beautiful  model  of 
some  intricate  building,  with  roofless  but  painted 
walls ;  whilst  behind  it  were  full-sized  facsimiles  of 
some  of  the  mural  pictures.  Glanville  pointed  out 
to  his  friends  the  skilful  disposition  of  the  rooms,  the 
courts,  offices,  and  cellars,  and  the  maze  of  galleries 
connecting  them.  He  called  attention  also  to  the 
elaborate  system  of  drainage,  which  suggested  the 
latest  work  of  the  sanitary  engineers  of  London. 
"  And  now,"  he  said,  "  look  at  the  pictures.  What 
do  you  think  of  these?  That  street  of  marble  houses, 
with  the  sea  and  masts  at  the  end  of  it,  might  almost 
represent  some  southern  town  of  to-day.  These 
things  are  better  than  those  which  we  looked  at  first. 
Do  n't  you  think  so,  Mrs.  Vernon?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  repeating  what  had  already  been 
said  by  the  others :  "  but  these,  whatever  they  are, 
must  be  much  more  modern  than  the  others.  Is  this 
some  place  which  the  Spaniards  built  in  America? " 

"That,"  said  Glanville,  "is  the  great  palace  at 
Knossos.      It  belongs  to  a  civilization  which   was 


170        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

flourishing  before  God  created  Adam.  But  if  we 
wish  to  have  our  tea,  I  must  n't  keep  you  waiting 
here.  I  've  something  more  to  show  you,  to  which 
this  is  only  a  preface.  I  was  telling  my  friend  Mr. 
Seaton,  that  I  had  a  sort  of  Bluebeard's  chamber 
here  in  the  orangery  below  the  terrace.  We  '11  go 
through  it  on  our  way  to  the  tea-things." 

His  party,  feeling  itself  hustled  rather  more  than 
was  necessary,  was  presently  being  taken  by  him 
down  a  broad  flight  of  steps,  which  brought  them  to 
a  door  in  a  pillared  and  balustraded  wall. 

"  I  'm  afraid,"  said  Glanville,  as  he  turned  the 
handle,  "  you  '11  find  yourselves  cramped  at  first." 
Nor  indeed  were  his  words  unjustified.  Their  view, 
on  entering,  was  impeded  by  a  glass  partition,  which 
crossed  the  building  only  six  feet  from  the  door;  and 
the  confined  space  in  which  the  party  were  thus  im- 
prisoned was  rendered  still  less  commodious  by  the 
presence  of  a  dwarf  wall,  dividing  the  oblong  com- 
partment into  two  parallel  strips,  of  which  that  near- 
est the  door  was  barely  two  feet  wide.  Into  this 
strip  the  visitors  managed  to  squeeze  themselves, 
whilst  their  host  unlocked  a  wicket  which  gave  ac- 
cess to  the  strip  beyond:  but  before  releasing  his 
captives  he  begged  them  to  take  notice  that  at  one 
end  of  their  pen  was  a  little  shelf,  on  which  stood  a 
plaster  crucifix,  jostling  a  miniature  model  of  a  new 
Cathedral  in  America.  Then  admitting  them  into 
the  broader  of  the  two  areas,  he  called  their  atten- 
tion to  a  longer  but  similar  shelf,  which  somewhat 
to  their  disappointment  was  occupied  by  a  rough 
and  reduced  duplicate  of  the  model  of  the  Palace  of 
Knossos,  from  which  he  had  just  hurried  them. 


The  World  to  the  Church       171 

"  I  Ve  no  doubt/'  said  Glanville,  "  you  think  this 
a  poor  exhibition ;  but  wait  till  you  have  grasped  its 
meaning.  That  crucifix  stands  about  twenty-two 
inches  from  the  wall.  The  far  end  of  the  palace 
reaches  to  a  distance  of  six  feet.  My  objects  here 
are  arranged  according  to  a  chronological  scale,  of 
which  every  foot  represents  a  thousand  years." 

"  I  see  that,"  said  Lord  Kestormel.  "  But  my 
dear  fellow,  this  is  a  long  building.  Why  the  devil 
have  you  huddled  things  up  in  a  corner?  " 

"  You  shall  see  in  a  moment,"  said  Glanville,  as 
he  opened  a  door  in  the  partition,  and  admitted  them 
to  a  new  compartment,  the  farther  boundary  of 
which  was  not  glass  but  a  gauze  curtain.  This  com- 
partment was  nearly  three  times  the  size  of  the  first, 
and  also  contained  a  shelf  dotted  with  various  ob- 
jects. "  Our  first  two  shelves,"  said  Glanville, 
"  which  together  were  six  feet  long,  took  us  back, 
Mrs.  Vernon,  to  the  traditional  date  of  Adam.  This 
shelf,  whose  length  is  something  like  twenty  feet, 
gives  us  the  landmarks  of  the  '  pre- Adamite  civiliza- 
tions.' Here  is  a  specimen  of  pre-Adamite  writing 
—  a  facsimile  of  the  wonderful  ebony  tablet  of 
Mena.  Here  we  come  to  models  of  great  pre- 
Adamite  merchant  ships  made  from  Egyptian  draw- 
ings. Earlier  still  than  the  ships  are  those  beautiful 
jars  and  pitchers  —  those  delicate  little  charms  — 
those  dainty  ornamental  figures.  And  here  —  look 
at  them  —  these  combs,  with  ivory  birds  for  handles. 
These  combs  were  six  thousand  years  old  when  Eve 
was  eating  the  apple.  My  collection  is  very  incom- 
plete. These  things  are  flint  implements.  Do  n't 
waste  your  time  on  them :  but  look  for  a  moment  at 


172        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

these  fragments  of  mortised  wood-work.  They  are 
just  like  the  carpentry  of  to-day.  Well  —  the  join- 
ers who  did  that  work  had,  when  Adam  was  created, 
been  dead  sixteen  thousand  years.  There  is  a  model 
—  that  neat  little  house  on  a  platform  —  of  one  of 
the  lake-dwellings.  Here  are  the  lake-dwellers' 
cooking-pots.  Here  are  reproductions  of  their 
coarse  diapered  napkins.  We  have  gone  far  back, 
but  civilization  has  begun  already.  And  now  wait 
for  a  moment  till  I  get  at  one  of  these  strings." 

Whilst  his  friends  paused,  Glanville  found  what 
he  was  looking  for.  He  pulled  a  dangling  string: 
the  curtains  were  drawn  aside,  and  the  whole  of  the 
orangery  was  visible  to  its  farthest  end. 

"  Magnificent,"  said  Lord  Restormel,  as  he  con- 
templated the  surprising  vista. 

"  Here,  Alistair,"  said  Glanville,  "  is  the  building 
about  which  you  felt  so  curious  when  we  had  our  dip 
in  the  sea.  Its  length,  as  I  said  then,  is  exactly  a 
thousand  feet.  We  are  now  twenty-six  feet  from 
the  end  by  which  we  entered.  The  shelf,  as  you  see, 
continues  the  whole  way.  And  now,  as  we  go  on, 
let  us  take  a  glance  at  what  stands  on  it.  From  the 
curtain  which  I  have  just  drawn  back  to  the  begin- 
ning of  those  heaps  of  lime,  the  distance  is  nearly 
sixty  feet.  This  stands  for  another  sixty-thousand 
years,  and  all  along  the  shelf  are  models  of  early 
men,  like  figures  out  of  a  Noah's  ark;  and  there  are 
the  caves  they  lived  in.  Here,"  he  went  on,  when 
they  came  at  last  to  the  spot  where  a  long  bank  of 
lime  took  the  place  of  all  other  objects,  "  we  're  look- 
ing at  man  as  he  was  more  than  eighty  thousand 
years  ago.     And  now,  for  this  bank  of  lime,  heaped 


The  World  to  the  Church       173 

into  miniature  mountains  —  it  extends  to  a  length  of 
a  hundred  and  sixty  feet.  This  represents  the  latest 
glacial  epoch,  which  endured  for  a  hundred  and  sixty 
thousand  years.  The  ice  and  the  snow  —  the  Huns 
and  Vandals  of  nature  —  had  for  all  this  period 
driven  man  out  of  Europe.  Let  us  hurry  on  to  the 
end  of  it.  Here  the  ice  ends.  The  figures  of  men 
appear  again :  and  they  dot  the  shelf  for  a  length  of 
four  hundred  and  eighty  feet.  These  are  the  men 
that  lived  and  died  in  Europe  for  a  period  the  years 
of  which  are  very  nearly  half  a  million:  and  then 
comes  another  lime  bank.  This  extends  for  two 
hundred  and  sixty  feet.  It  is  glacial  epoch  number 
one,  during  which  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mil- 
lion years,  Europe  was  white  with  snow,  and  the 
human  race  expelled  from  it.  Perhaps  you  think 
there  is  nothing  more  to  come :  but  the  lime-bank,  as 
you  '11  see,  does  n't  quite  reach  to  the  door ;  and  a 
bit  of  shelf  remains  which  has  one  thing  on  it  which 
will  interest  you.  "  Look,"  said  Glanville,  when  his 
party  had  followed  him  to  the  farther  door,  "  before 
the  first  mantle  of  dreadful  cold  had  descended,  this 
was  left  by  those  of  our  own  blood  as  a  relic  for  us. 
It  's  a  drawing  on  ivory  by  one  of  our  pre-glacial 
ancestors.  It 's  a  drawing  of  a  woman  —  the  earli- 
est of  female  portraits.  Look  at  her  —  this  pathetic 
object  —  our  mother  —  this  nameless  savage.  She 
has  one  thing  on  —  one  only,  and  that  thing  is  a 
bracelet.  Can  you,  Mrs.  Vernon,  who  are  familiar 
with  London  ball-rooms,  doubt  the  lady's  relationship 
to  many  of  your  own  contemporaries?  " 

"  One  can  hardly  bear  to  look  at  it,"  said  Mrs.  Ver- 
non, who  by  this  time  had  the  portrait  in  her  hand: 


174        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

"  and  yet  I  can  hardly  put  it  down.  It  makes  all 
the  history  that  we  know  —  the  rise  and  fall  of  em- 
pires—  seem  like  the  squabbles  of  children  during 
one  day  in  the  school-room." 

"  And  do  n't  you  find/'  said  Glanville  who  was 
now  opening  the  door,  "that  it  suggests  a  similar, 
though  not  quite  the  same  thought,  with  regard  to 
the  history  of  human  religions  also?  " 

The  whole  party  remained  for  some  moments,  look- 
ing down  the  length  of  the  gallery,  as  though  the 
spectacle  overwhelmed  and  fascinated  them. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  as  soon  as 
they  were  all  outside,  "  that 's  a  most  ingenious,  a 
most  impressive  object-lesson,  Mr.  Glanville. 
There  's  only  one  point  about  which  I  should  like  to 
question  you.  The  dates  and  duration  of  the  sup- 
posed glacial  epochs  —  there  ?s  still  among  men  of 
science  some  dispute  as  to  these." 

"No  doubt,"  said  Glanville:  "but  if  I  were  the 
chairman  of  our  Conference  I  think  I  might  show 
you  that  your  objection  was  out  of  order.  The  work 
of  the  ice  and  snow  may  have  taken  place  not  quite 
in  the  manner  represented.  The  portrait  of  the 
woman  with  the  bracelet  may  possibly  be  inter- 
glacial.  You  must  take  my  exhibition  as  no  more 
than  a  rough  sketch  of  things.  Indeed  it  is  probably 
far  more  out  of  drawing  than  you  suggest;  for  it 
cramps  the  history  of  man  into  the  smallest  possible 
compass  which  the  most  timid  of  anthropologists  of 
any  school  can  assign  to  it.  It  gives  man  an  an- 
tiquity of  a  million  years  only.  This  is  probably 
twenty,  and  possibly  a  hundred  times  too  little.  If 
we  give  to  Christianity   a   shelf-length   of  twenty- 


The  World  to  the  Church       175 

two  inches,  humanity  ought  probably  to  have  a  shelf- 
length  of  five,  and  possibly  of  twenty,  miles.  But 
for  the  purpose  of  our  present  argument  a  thou- 
sand feet  is  enough,  and  no  alteration  of  its  details 
could  alter  its  general  import.  I  showed  my  exhi- 
bition on  Saturday  before  luncheon  to  our  Bishop, 
forbearing  to  insist  on  the  moral  of  it.  He  be- 
stowed on  it  several  smiles  of  quasi-scientific  ap- 
proval. He  seemed  pleased  at  what  he  called  my 
cautiousness  in  reducing  man's  years  to  a  million: 
He  accepted  the  fact  that  the  earlier  men  were  sav- 
ages ;  and  yet  in  the  discourse  which  he  gave  us  that 
very  night  in  the  dining-room,  all  this  had  slipped 
from  him  like  water  from  a  duck's  back :  and  he  told 
us  that  the  first  man's  fall,  as  given  us  in  the  Biblical 
legend,  was  the  great  fundamental  fact  with  which 
human  history  started." 

The  party,  while  Glanville  was  speaking,  had  been 
slowly  following  their  host  up  a  path  which  presently 
brought  them  to  a  corcle  of  schedule  lawn,  where  a 
tea-table  under  the  trees,  was  surrounded  by  a  group 
of  chairs.  A  chair  in  a  prominent  place  was  again 
assigned  to  Mr.  Hancock;  whilst  at  Glanville's  re- 
quest Lady  Snowdon  stationed  herself  by  the  tea- 
pot. The  hot  water,  however,  had  not  yet  been 
brought;  and  it  was  agreed  that,  in  any  case,  the 
dispensing  of  mere  physical  refreshment  should  be 
postponed,  till  the  Conference  had  reached  its  now 
approaching  conclusion. 

"  I  hope,"  resumed  Glanville,  "  that  our  Chairman 
and  all  the  rest  of  you  see  that  in  taking  you  to  my 
two  exhibitions  I  have  all  along  had  in  view  the 
point  which  we  have  pledged  ourselves  to  consider." 


176        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  u  certainly.  But 
perhaps  it  would  be  just  as  well  if  I  pointed  out  the 
course  which  our  discussion  has  taken  thus  far.  We 
started  with  four  groups  of  alleged  historical  events, 
on  the  objective  realty  of  which  miraculous  Christ- 
ianity bases  itself.  Well  —  we  found  that  these 
events  were  becoming  incredible  to  the  world  of  to- 
day, because,  the  growth  of  knowledge  having  in- 
creased the  increased  improbability  of  all,  and  hav- 
ing shown,  in  especial,  that  the  first  of  them  is  in 
definite  contradiction  to  facts,  it  has  also  completely 
discredited  the  solitary  authority  in  their  favor  —  I 
mean  the  Bible  regarded  as  a  series  of  historical  re- 
velation. Xow  for  most  people  who  reject  the  mi- 
raculous Christian  scheme,  the  reasons  I  have  just 
referred  to,  seem  quite  enough,  and  more  than 
enough.  They  do  n't  I  fancy,  want  very  much  more. 
Mr.  Glanville,  however,  somewhat  to  my  surprise,  I 
confess  —  seems  to  think  differently.  He  wants  an- 
other reason,  which  shall  slay  the  slain;  and  he  has 
taken  us  through  his  chronological  gallery  to  show 
us  what  his  reason  is.  The  general  nature  of  it  was 
obvious  to  Mrs.  Yernon  and  all  of  us:  but  Mr.  Glan- 
ville no  doubt  will  point  his  moral  in  his  own  lan- 
guage." 

"  Well,"  said  Glanville,  "  you  remember  how,  be- 
fore we  left  the  other  end  of  the  garden,  I  said  that 
the  Roman  Church  was  armed  with  a  theory  of  her 
own  authority  which  might,  if  we  isolated  the  Christ- 
ian conception  of  history,  so  buttress  up  the  col- 
lapsing Biblical  evidences  as  to  give  us  this  concep- 
tion back  again  in  a  form  which  would  be  logically 
defensible.     Indeed  I  have  often  myself  felt,  under 


The  World  to  the  Church       177 

the  spell  of  this  Catholic  theory,  the  old  Universe  of 
miracle  forming  itself  once  more  round  me;  and  as 
it  gradually  shut  me  up  in  a  kind  of  enchanted  globe, 
the  Fall,  the  Incarnation,  the  Ascension,  and  all 
their  kindred  marvels,  became  once  more  believable, 
and  not  unsupported,  facts.  But  the  moment  this 
globe  collides  with  realties  outside  itself,  it  bursts 
like  a  bubble :  and  a  vision  of  existence  is  revealed  to 
us  so  enormous  and  overwhelming  that  the  contents 
of  the  globe,  whatever  their  internal  cohesion,  seem 
more  incredible  on  account  of  their  pettiness  as  a 
whole,  than  their  separate  parts  do  if  we  take  them 
one  by  one.  Thus,  though  the  Koman  Church  enjoys 
a  great  logical  advantage  in  being  able  to  support 
the  Bible  by  her  own  living  authority,  instead  of  de- 
riving her  own  authority  from  it,  she  ends  by  assert- 
ing —  and  the  mind  always  continues  to  assent  — 
that  what  our  Bishop  called  The  Great  Epic  of  Re- 
demption, with  its  chief  miracles  at  all  events,  is 
historically  and  objectively  true:  and  the  first  and 
most  conclusive  reason  why  the  world  is  rejecting 
this  assertion  is,  that  if  we  take  this  Epic  in  connec- 
tion with  the  realities  outside  its  scope,  it  is,  if  of- 
fered us  as  history,  neither  more  nor  less  than  ridicu- 
lous to  the  enlarged  imagination  of  to-day.  I  ap- 
peal to  Mrs.  Yernon  herself.  I  saw  her,  as  we  left 
the  orangery,  turn  to  take  one  last  look  down  its 
vista  of  a  thousand  feet.  The  earliest  definite  re- 
ligion of  which  we  have  any  knowledge,  hardly  be- 
o-ins  more  than  eiffht  feet  from  the  end.  The  Christ- 
ian  religion  occupies  but  two-and-twenty  inches ;  the 
religion  of  Abraham's  children  but  twenty-two  inches 
more.     How  can  we  possibly  accept  this  story  of  the 


178        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

human  race,  when  we  see  that  out  of  at  least  a  hun- 
dred millenial  chapters,  this  story  begins  with  a  leg- 
end which  refers  to  the  middle  of  the  last,  and  then 
only  touches  on  facts  by  turning  them  upside  down? 
We  could  as  soon  believe  that  a  slop-basin  contained 
the  Atlantic  Ocean.  The  enlargement  of  men's 
imagination  by  the  acquisition  of  a  new  knowledge 
is  making  them  reject  this  story  as  puerile  on  account 
of  its  character  as  a  whole,  and  even  more  surely 
than  the  destruction  of  the  evidence  for  its  main  in- 
cidents is  making  them  reject  it  as  false  when  they 
take  it  bit  by  bit." 

"  After  all,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  I  think  Mr.  Glan- 
ville  is  right.  This  is  the  greater  reason  which  in- 
cludes the  less.  It 's  a  question  of  imagination,  and 
what  we  call  practical  judgment." 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Lord  Kestormel,  "  do  you  re- 
member a  remark  of  the  Bishop's,  at  dinner  the  other 
night,  about  judgment?  It  was  above  his  usual 
level,  because  he  had  no  perception  of  the  drift  of  it. 
He  said  that  judgment  was  the  mind's  unconscious 
working  on  facts  so  numerous  that  consciousness 
could  not  follow  its  operations?  It  was  a  conclusion, 
he  said,  formed  for  us,  rather  than  by  us,  like  an 
image  on  the  retina  of  the  eye.  This  instinctive 
judgment  of  the  modern  world  that  the  Christian 
mythology  is  incredible,  illustrates  precisely  what 
our  excellent  Bishop  said.  But  my  dear  Rupert, 
this  judgment  is  not  new.  It  began  to  be  formed  by 
Europe  three  hundred  years  ago:  and  perhaps  Mrs. 
Yernon  will  let  me  tell  her  something  about  this  that 
will  surprise  her." 


The  World  to  the  Church       179 

"  Tell  me  by  all  means,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon.  "  I 
am  here  waiting  to  be  surprised." 

"  The  keenest  judgment  ever  passed  on  the  signifi- 
cance of  modern  knowledge,"  said  Lord  Kestormel, 
"  was  passed  instinctively,  when  that  knowledge  was 
only  in  its  infancy,  not  by  sceptics  or  heretics,  but  by 
the  orthodox  Churches  themselves  —  Catholic  and 
Protestant  alike;  and  they  gave  expression  to  it  not 
through  their  words  only,  but  through  their  fears, 
their  rage,  their  anathemas,  their  dungeons  and  their 
murdering  fires.  '  If  the  earth  be  merely  an  insig- 
nificant star  in  a  family  of  countless  worlds,  it  at  once 
becomes  incredible  that  God  should  have  died  for 
man ;  and  therefore/  they  added,  '  let  us  roast  every 
teacher  of  the  new  astronomy.'  That  is  what  was 
said,  in  almost  these  very  words,  by  Cardinal,  Cal- 
vinist,  Lutheran,  from  one  end  of  Europe  to  another, 
when  Galileo  was  in  chains,  and  Bruno's  flesh  was 
frizzling.  Eh,  Rupert  ?  What 's  that  paper  you  're 
looking  at? " 

"  It 's  something,"  said  Glanville,  "  which  I  copied 
out  this  morning  from  the  review  of  Darwin's  Origin 
of  Species,  written  by  the  great  Bishop  Wilberforce, 
soon  after  the  book  appeared.  It  will  be  worth  your 
while  to  listen  to  it.  The  doctrine  of  human  evolu- 
tion, which  he  calls  the  '  frenzied  inspiration  of  the 
inhaler  of  a  mephitic  gas,'  is,  he  says,  '  equally  and 
utterly  irreconcilable  with  the  entire  Christian  rep- 
resentation of  man's  moral  and  spiritual  condition ' 
— i  with  man's  derived  supremacy  over  the  earth  — 
man's  Fall  and  Redemption — the  Incarnation  of  the 
Eternal  Son  —  the  indwelling  of  the  Eternal  Spirit.' 
Bishop  Wilberforce,  you  see,  does  but  re-utter  to-day 


180        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

the  judgment  of  the  orthodox  Churches  in  the  days 
of  Galileo  and  of  Bruno :  and  the  world  to-day,  Mrs. 
Yernon,  is  simply  taking  the  Churches  at  their  word, 
and  withering  them  with  their  own  argument." 

"  How  true,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Brompton,  sitting  up 
in  his  chair.  "How  magnificently  true!  Ah  yes! 
The  Churches  which  made  a  burning  torch  of  Bruno 
have  been  to  knowledge  what  Nero  was  to  the 
Churches.  And  yet,"  he  went  on,  "  how  hard  super- 
stition dies! 

Destroy  its   fib   of   sophistry.     In   vain 
The  creature's  at  its  dirty  work  again. 

These  reptile  priests,  since  they  can  no  longer  kill 
science,  are  now  pretending  to  fawn  on  it,  and  are 
licking,  and  slobbering  over,  its  hands." 

"I  think,  Mr.  Brompton,"  said  Lady  Snowdon, 
"  you  're  a  little  too  violent  sometimes." 

"  Ah,"  said  Mr.  Brompton,  drawing  a  long  breath, 
"  you  have  n't  suffered  under  it  —  you  have  n't  suf- 
fered under  clericalism  —  as  I  have  done.  Mr. 
Glanville,  might  I  look  at  your  extract  from  Bishop 
Wilberforce?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  Glanville :  "  and  meanwhile  I  Tl 
wind  up  with  something  which  oddly  enough  illus- 
trates what  Mr.  Brompton  has  just  said.  I  have 
quoted  Bishop  Wilberforce.  Let  me  now  give  you 
something  from  Archdeacon  Wilberforce,  his  de- 
scendant. The  Archdeacon,  you  may  remember, 
was  quoted  by  the  Bishop  of  Glastonbury,  as  one  of 
the  champions  of  miraculous  Christianity  to-day. 
I've  here  a  volume  of  the  Archdeacon's  sermons, 
which,  in  the  Bishop's  phrase,  have  echoed  through 


The  World  to  the  Church       181 

the  arches  of  our  grand  national  Abbey.  I  referred 
to  this  volume  the  morning  after  the  Bishop  alluded 
to  it;  and  I  found,  amongst  other  things,  that 
whereas  the  Bishop  forty  years  ago  had  denounced 
evolution  as  a  dream  inspired  by  a  mephitic  gas,  the 
Archdeacon  is  patronizing  Christ  under  the  name  of 
'  the  great  evolver.'  But  the  most  interesting  bit  I 
came  across  was  his  defence  of  the  doctrine  of  the 
Ascension.  My  dear  Mrs.  Yernon,  I  '11  ask  you  to 
listen  to  this.  He  begins  by  saying  that  the  idea  of 
a  heaven  situated  above  the  earth  is  an  absurdity 
now  for  all  of  us.  '  What  is  up  in  Galilee/  he  says, 
'  would  be  down  at  the  Antipodes/  and  the  literal 
physical  departure  of  a  body  through  trackless  space 
would  be  a  perfectly  meaningless,  even  if  it  were 
not  an  incredible,  incident.  What  then,  according 
to  him,  was  the  miracle  of  the  Ascension  in  reality? 
It  was  an  optical  delusion,  he  says,  to  which  Christ 
in  His  Omnipotence  resorted,  in  order  to  advertise 
his  disciples,  who  knew  nothing  of  science,  that,  his 
temporal  work  being  over,  he  was  disappearing  into 
the  fourth  dimension  of  space.  I  found  another  ser- 
mon also  on  the  same  subject,  by  an  eminent  High- 
Churchman,  who  speaks  of  commemorating  the  sac- 
red day  on  which  our  Lord  disappeared  —  or,  as  we 
say,  ascended !  Does  n't  this  show  you  what  a  bur- 
den even  priests  themselves  now  find  these  miracles 
which  were  once  their  proudest  boast  ?  How  can  the 
secular  world  believe  any  longer  in  the  Ascension,  when 
its  defenders  are  driven  to  explain  it  as  the  trick  of 
an  Indian  Juggler?  And  now  Mrs.  Vernon  —  I  've 
one  little  thing  more  to  add.  You  were  quoting  Dr. 
Sanday  —  our  most  prominent  Anglican  apologist. 


1 82        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

He  with  all  his  predisposition  to  believe  in  miracles 
can  hardly  manage  to  do  quite  as  well  as  the  Arch- 
deacon. I  '11  lend  you  a  paper  by  him,  on  the  "  Obli- 
gation of  the  Creeds."  Here  is  a  sketch  of  his  argu- 
ment, which  will  show  you  his  frame  of  mind.  We 
may  still,  he  says,  recite  the  Creeds,  however  we  may 
doubt  their  articles,  because  their  proper  form  is  not 
'  I  believe/  but  '  We  believe  ' —  or  in  other  words 
'  the  Church  believes.'  It  seems  to  me  that  accord- 
ing to  this  argument  a  Christian  might  with  equal 
propriety  recite  the  Creed  of  Mahomet,  and  with 
greater  profit:  for  he  would  thus  be  informing  him- 
self of  what  was  really  believed  by  strangers,  instead 
of  muttering  what  was  questioned  or  disbelieved  by 
himself.  But  what  I  should  like  you  specially  to 
notice  is  Dr.  Sanday's  application  of  his  principles  to 
the  miraculous  birth  of  Christ.  Whether  or  no  he 
says,  this  was  really  true  as  a  fact,  God  at  all  events 
in  times  past  willed  that  we  should  believe  it  to  be 
true.  Can  anything  be  more  pitiable  than  these  at- 
tempts of  an  educated  man  to  gulp  down  decompos- 
ing morsels  of  dogma,  when  his  intellectual  gorge  is 
all  the  while  rising  against  them? " 

"Mr.  Glanville,"  said  Mr.  Brompton,  "  you  Ve 
suppressed  the  best  bit  of  all.  Here  is  Bishop  Wil- 
berforce  ridiculing  or  denouncing  Darwin  for  repre- 
senting famine,  disease,  and  indeed  death  generally, 
as  the  means  by  which  Nature  has  selected  the  crea- 
tures fittest  to  live.  '  For  the  presence  of  these 
strange  forms  of  death  and  suffering  amongst  the 
works  of  God,  we,'  says  the  sapient  Bishop,  (  can  give 
him  a  still  simpler  solution.  We/  says  the  Bishop, 
'  can   tell  him   of  the   strong   shudder   which   ran 


The  World  to  the  Church       183 

through  all  the  world  when  its  head  and  ruler  fell.' 
There  it  is !  The  csecus  appendix,  microbes,  ma- 
laria, bad  seasons,  failures  of  crops,  earthquakes 
which  swallow  up  cities,  cyclonic  waves  which  sweep 
Pacific  islanders  into  the  sea,  the  constant  preying  of 
one  species  on  another  —  all  this  is  due  to  our  old 
friend  Adam  and  his  apple.  Ah,  these  priests  — 
these  priests!  They  are  bound  to  hark  back  to  the 
old  redudio  ad  absurdum:  and  along  with  the  strong 
shudder  that  Adam  sent  through  the  Universe  come 
all  the  other  strong  shudders  that  make  up  Hebrew 
history  —  Joshua's  moon,  the  dial  of  Ahaz,  Mr.  Max- 
well's t  merciful  fiat '  which  killed  two  hundred  thou- 
sand Assyrians  —  in  short  the  whole  blessed  bag  of 
tricks." 

Lady  Snowdon  drew  herself  up  at  these  last  re- 
markable words,  as  a  protest  against  their  irrever- 
ence not  so  much  perhaps  to  the  Bible  as  to  herself. 
"  Mr.  Brompton,"  she  said,  "  such  language  is  hardly 
necessary.  Nobody  here  —  not  even  my  niece,  Mrs. 
Yernon,  though  she  has,  as  I  can  see,  been  distressed 
by  many  things  that  have  been  said  —  believes  in 
the  Christian  mythology  any  more  than  you  yourself 
do.  If  you  stamp  on  it  in  that  way,  you  '11  only  con- 
vey the  impression  that  it  is,  in  your  own  mind,  not 
quite  so  dead  as  you  think  it  is." 

This  observation,  for  the  moment,  shut  Mr. 
Brompton  up ;  and  as  Glanville  was  now  speaking  in 
a  low  tone  to  Mrs.  Yernon,  the  general  proceedings 
came  to  an  abrupt  stand-still. 

"  If  Archdeacons,"  Glanville  was  saying  to  her, 
"  can  only  defend  our  belief  in  the  Ascension  thus, 
do  you  really  retain  that  —  your  belief  in  the  crown- 


184        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

ing  miracle  ?  Or  which,  and  how  many,  do  you  still 
believe  of  the  others  ?  " 

"  Not  many,  I  'm  afraid,"  replied  Mrs.  Vernon 
gravely.  "  ISTot  many."  But  one  does  n't  like  to  be 
made  to  think  how  few.  Her  black  veil  was  down; 
and  Glanville  saw  from  the  edge  of  it  something 
which  was  like  a  drop  transfer  itself  to  her  black 
blouse. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  as  he  looked  compla- 
cently round  him,  "  since  it  seems  that  we  have  pretty 
well  answered  the  question  which  we  set  out  to  dis- 
cuss, namely  the  question  of  why  the  world,  which 
apparently  includes  us  all,  is  no  longer  able  to  be- 
lieve in  the  traditional  religion  of  miracles,  I  may  I 
suppose,  declare  that  our  first  Conference  is  ended." 

"  There  she  is,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Vernon  recover- 
ing her  vivacity  with  an  effort.  "  My  dear,  I  'm  so 
glad  to  see  you."  A  servant,  as  she  spoke,  was  ap- 
proaching with  a  silver  urn;  and  following  him  was 
another  who  escorted  a  strange  lady.  She  was 
young;  she  walked  beautifully,  and  was  draped  in 
a  long  cloak,  the  color  of  coral,  which  Glanville  at 
once  recognized. 

"  Mr.  Glanville,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  here  is  my 
niece  Stephanie." 

Lord  Kestormel  turned  round  in  his  chair,  with  a 
look  of  indolent  enquiry;  and  his  eyes  —  judges  of 
women  —  made  him  for  the  time  forget  the  nature 
of  alleged  revelation,  and  the  fate  of  traditional 
Christianity. 


CHAPTEK    III 

L  6  fTlHIS  evening,"  said  Glanville  to  Mrs.  Vernon, 
A  in  the  twilight  of  the  drawing-room  before 
dinner,  "  they  want  to  be  at  it  again." 

"At  this  same  discussion?"  said  Mrs.  Vernon. 
"  Have  n't  we  had  enough  for  one  day?  I  feel  some- 
how as  if  I  'd  been  at  a  friend's  funeral.  Who 
wants  it? " 

"  Apparently,"  said  Glanville,  "  your  niece  does. 
Kestormel  has  been  walking  her  about,  and  giving 
her  an  account  of  our  Conference.  She  seems  to 
have  jumped  at  the  idea  of  it.  Her  interest  in  the 
matter  does  not  in  the  least  surprise  me." 

"Not  surprise  you!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Vernon. 
"  Why  you  've  hardly  exchanged  a  word  with  her." 

"  No  more  words,"  said  Glanville,  "  than  could  be 
got  into  three  minutes.  And  yet  I  learned,  during 
those  three  minutes  at  the  railway  station,  more  of 
her  mind  with  regard  to  certain  subjects  than,  I 
dare  say,  she  'd  confide  to  the  majority  of  her  oldest 
friends." 

Lord  Eestormel,  next  whom  Miss  Leighton  had 
been  given  a  seat  at  tea-time,  had  at  once  mentally 
classified  her  as  the  kind  of  woman  to  whom  men 
always  attend,  though  she  does  not,  and  need  not, 
make  any  effort  to  gain  their  attention.  He  was  not 
indeed  moved  by  her  in  any  very  tempestous  man- 
ner: but  as  every  Jewish  matron  hoped  to  be  the 

185 


1 86        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

mother  of  the  Messiah,  so  did  Lord  Kestormel  hope 
that  every  woman  he  met  would  prove  to  be,  for 
himself,  the  perfect  ideal  of  womanhood :  and  retain- 
ing, as  he  did,  certain  vice-regal  ideas  of  his  right  to 
the  first  enjoyment  of  any  new  feminine  sympathies, 
he  had  managed  when  tea  was  over,  to  secure  the 
young  lady  to  himself,  and  exchange  a  variety  of 
confidences  with  her  in  the  course  of  a  private  walk. 

Miss  Leighton's  age,  though  she  was  young,  was 
not  quite  easy  to  guess;  but,  whatever  it  might  be, 
she  had  a  subtle  air  of  experience  which  would  have 
made  the  thought  of  a  chaperon  in  connection  with 
her  seem  an  absurdity.  Glanville  had  received  this 
impression  the  first  moment  he  met  her,  and  it  was 
heightened  now  by  the  ease  with  which  she  entered 
the  drawing-room,  and  the  composed  and  the  fastidi- 
ous leisureliness  with  which  she  drew  on  her  gloves. 
At  dinner  she  was  next  her  host. 

"  Have  you,"  he  asked  her,  "  been  reading  any 
more  of  Pascal? " 

"  No,"  she  answered  in  an  undertone,  raising  her 
eyes  to  his.  "  I  hope  that  this  evening  we  're  going 
to  do  something  better.  How  much  more  interest- 
ing these  discussions  are  than  gossip  about  other  peo- 
ple's love-affairs !  What,  Lady  Snowdon  —  my  rest- 
cure?  It  really  was  not  unamusing.  I  saw  Sir  Rod- 
erick Harborough  walking  arm  in  arm  with  a  bishop; 
and  I  had  a  book  to  read  the  very  name  of  which  I 
am  ashamed  to  tell  you." 

Lord  Restormel  stared  at  her  with  an  odd  look  in 
his  eyes,  as  though  she  had  risen  in  his  interest  rather 
than  his  estimation.  Lady  Snowdon,  though  not 
given  to  starting,  started. 


The  World  to  the  Church       187 

"  It  was  called,"  said  Miss  Leighton  placidly,  "  An 
Outline  of  Spinoza  s  Philosophy/' 

"  My  dear,"  exclaimed  Lady  Snowdon,  in  a  tone  of 
surprised  relief,  "you  positively  took  my  breath 
away." 

"  Please,"  said  Miss  Leighton  to  Grlanville,  "  begin 
talking  about  something  else :  or  else,  I  'm  certain 
that  that  bright-eyed  little  man  there  —  is  n't  it  Mr. 
Hancock  —  will  want  to  examine  me  in  what  I  do  n't 
understand." 

Miss  Leighton  though,  during  the  course  of  din- 
ner, she  said  nothing  more  that  was  remarkable,  was 
felt  by  the  gentlemen  of  the  party  to  be  so  enliven- 
ing an  addition  to  it,  that  they  left  the  dining-room 
earlier  than  they  otherwise  might  have  done.  All 
were  willing  —  they  were  even  becoming  eager  — 
to  gratify  her  wishes  by  resuming  the  discussions  of 
the  afternoon.  Mr.  Hancock  produced  a  pocket- 
book,  ready  to  make  notes:  and  Mr.  Brompton  felt 
himself  agitated  by  a  new  efflorescence  of  indigna- 
tion against  the  incubus  of  faith,  as  he  called  it,  by 
which  his  spirit  had  once  been  crushed.  Miss  Leigh- 
ton was,  however,  at  the  moment  when  they  reached 
the  portico,  in  the  act  of  entering  the  house  in  order 
to  provide  herself  with  a  cloak.  Her  host  accom- 
panied her;  and  whilst  waiting  with  her  for  her  maid 
in  the  hall,  he  explained  to  her  the  course  which 
their  discussion  would  probably  take  that  evening. 

"  I  think  I  understand,"  she  said,  as  she  let  him 
clasp  round  her  throat  a  collar  of  soft  swan's-down. 
"  It 's  sure  to  comfort  my  Aunt  —  and  me  too,  per- 
haps.    Who  knows?     I  am  all  expectation." 

When  thev  re-entered  the  drawing-room  on  their 


1 88        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

way  back  to  the  portico,  they  found  Mrs.  Vernon 
seated  by  herself  in  the  window,  and  heard  outside 
a  certain  murmur  of  voices,  as  though  some  sort  of 
discussion  had  set  itself  going  already.  They  paused 
by  Mrs.  Vernon  and  listened.  Mr.  Brompton  was 
standing  on  one  of  the  steps  with.  Lord  Bestormel, 
and,  pleased  to  have  captured  such  an  auditor,  was 
speaking  to  him  with  dramatic  gesticulations. 

"Believing!"  he  was  saying.  "Yes  —  that's 
their  word  —  Believing.  What  I  tell  my  own  con- 
gregation is  this.  '  If  I  want,'  I  say  to  them,  '  to  do 
an  heroic  or  self-sacrificing  action,  what  does  it  mat- 
ter whether  I  believe  or  do  n't  believe  that  the  Deity 
interfered  with  the  course  of  the  solar  system  in  or- 
der to  convince  a  nervous  old  gentleman  like  Heze- 
kiah  that  a  poultice  of  figs  was  a  good  prescription 
for  a  boil.'  " 

"  And  I  suppose,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Lord 
Restormel,  "  you  and  I  may  agree,  as  the  Egyptians 
had  agreed  long  before  they  had  even  heard  of  the 
Israelites,  and  the  Incas  had  agreed  long  before  they 
had  even  heard  of  the  Christians,  that  if  men  are  to 
live  in  society,  they  must  abstain  from  robbing  and 
stabbing  each  other ;  and  yet  we  need  n't  believe  that 
these  sociological  platitudes  had  to  be  written  on 
two  stones  by  the  Deity,  at  the  top  of  a  temporary 
volcano.  I  have  often  thought,"  he  continued, 
"  that  if  the  more  startling  of  the  Biblical  miracles 
—  the  crossing  of  the  Bed  Sea  through  a  kind  of 
magical  trench,  the  giving  of  the  law,  the  solar  dis- 
turbances caused  for  the  benefit  of  Hezekiah  and 
Joshua,  the  devils  and  the  pigs,  the  setting  on  the 
pinnacle  of  the  temple,  and  so  on  had  been  by  some 


The  World  to  the  Church       189 

accident  left  out  of  the  Bible,  they  are  just  the  inci- 
dents which  a  man  like  Voltaire  would  have  invented, 
as  scurrilous  caricatures  which  would  make  the  others 
ridiculous.     Will  you  let  me  offer  you  a  cigar? " 

Mr.  Brompton  accepted  one,  with  a  bow.  He 
sometimes  smoked  in  public,  not  because  he  liked  the 
practice,  but  because  it  seemed  to  him  a  sort  of  mun- 
dane fumigation  by  which  he  got  rid  of  the  last  re- 
mains of  his  orders. 

"Can't  they  let  it  alone?"  said  Mrs.  Vernon  to 
Glanville.  "  Lord  Restormel  might  at  least  have 
more  tact  and  feeling.  Do  you  know,  when  I  listen 
to  all  that,  what  it  makes  me  want  to  do  ?  Literally, 
to  go  into  my  bed-room  and  begin  saying  my  pray- 
ers. I  '11  let  you  finish  your  discussion  to-night  by 
yourselves." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  Glanville  kindly,  "  stay 
with  us;  and  I  can  promise  you  one  thing.  We  '11 
send  you  to  bed  feeling  happier  than  you  do  now. 
I  want  to  speak  for  a  moment  to  Mr.  Hancock;  and 
meanwhile  do  you  and  Miss  Leighton  sit  yourselves 
down  outside." 

"  Come  Aunt  Juliet,"  said  Miss  Leighton,  "  It  can 
do  you  no  harm  to  listen." 

Mrs.  Vernon  was  persuaded.  Glanville,  having 
caught  Mr.  Hancock  drew  him  into  the  drawing- 
room  where  the  two  talked  for  a  minute  or  two,  and 
the  latter  made  notes  by  a  reading-lamp.  They 
came  back  to  the  portico,  bringing  the  lamp  with 
them.  This  was  placed  on  a  table;  and  Mr.  Han- 
cock disposing  his  notes  in  the  yellow  artificial  glow, 
which  made  a  curious  contrast  with  the  whiteness  of 


190        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

the  brilliant  moonlight,  assumed  once  more  his  posi- 
tion and  his  duties  as  chairman. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  we  are  not,  if 
you  please,  going  to  call  this  a  second  Conference. 
We  will  call  it  the  conclusion  of  our  first.  This  af- 
ternoon we  considered  a  certain  series  of  statements, 
which  the  civilized  world  for  ages  has  been  accus- 
tomed to  accept  as  historical;  and  we  agreed  that  we 
cannot,  and  as  to  why  we  cannot,  accept  them  as  his- 
torical any  longer.  Well  —  we  have  to  recollect 
that  we  deliberately  excluded  from  our  consideration 
all  the  moral  aspects  of  the  religion  with  which  these 
statements  have  been  associated.  These  we  will  dis- 
cuss to-morrow.  They  form  too  big  a  question  for 
to-night.  We  shall  find,  indeed,  that  they  are  a 
porch  to  another  enquiry  altogether.  But  though 
the  moral  aspect  of  the  religion  in  question  were 
excluded,  and  therefore  cannot  this  afternoon  have 
been  treated  disrespectfully  by  anybody,  a  tendency 
perhaps  exhibited  itself  to  reject  the  alleged  miracu- 
lous incidents,  in  too  —  well,  how  shall  we  put  it  ?  — 
in  too  unceremonious  a  manner.  In  this  way,  Mr. 
Glanville  believes  that  a  false  impression  has  been 
created.  He  thinks  we  have  exhibited  ourselves  in 
the  character  of  Cromwellian  troopers,  defacing  a 
Cathedral  because  they  did  not  believe  in  Episco- 
pacy: and  until  this  impression  is  removed,  he  does 
not  consider  our  first  discussion  complete.  He  pre- 
fers to  remove  this  impression  and  complete  the  dis- 
cussion now." 

"  I  propose,"  said  Glanville,  "  not  so  much  to  re- 
move the  impression  as  to  invert  it.  We  all  of  us 
here,  I  think,  have  some  appreciation  of  poetry :  and 


The  World  to  the  Church       191 

we  all  must  have  read,  either  in  the  original  or  in 
translations,  Homer's  Odyssey,  and  Dante's  Divine 
Comedy ." 

These  words  were  greeted  with  a  general  murmur 
of  assent. 

"  And  some  of  us,"  he  continued,  "  know  from  bit- 
ter experience  that  if  the  Odyssey  is  treated  as  a  les- 
son-book for  illustrating  Greek  constructions,  and  if 
Dante  has  to  be  studied  for  some  horrible  examina- 
tion in  literature,  both  these  poems  are  detestable 
to  us." 

"  As  to  Dante,"  said  Mrs.  Yernon,  "  I  know  that 's 
true  from  experience.  The  Odyssey  I  've  read  only 
in  English,  so  it  never  did  anything  but  delight  me." 

"Well,"  said  Glanville,  "if  the  miscreant  who 
taught  you  Dante  had,  instead  of  maddening  you  with 
a  mass  of  obscure  dates,  obscure  events,  and  obscure 
persons,  done  what  was  worse  —  and  had  he  insisted 
that  Dante  mainly  deserved  your  attention  as  the 
one  scientific  authority  on  the  physical  structure  of 
the  Universe  —  had  he  but  told  you  to  believe,  on 
Dante's  inspired  authority,  that  the  inside  of  the 
earth  was  occupied  by  a  funnel-shaped  hell,  and  that 
if,  with  a  long  enough  drill,  we  bored  in  the  proper 
place,  we  should  make  a  hole  in  the  head  or  the  wings 
of  Satan,  what  would  have  been  your  feelings  then? 
You  would  not  only  have  failed  to  appreciate  the 
charm  of  Dante's  poetry,  but  you  would  have  looked 
on  him  and  your  teacher  as  a  couple  of  ignorant 
madmen.  And  then  again,  if  you  were  seriously 
told  to  believe  that  the  Odyssey  was  mainly  valuable 
for  the  light  which  it  throws  on  geography  —  to  be- 
lieve, on  Homer's  authority,  that  the  earth  is  flat, 


192        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

with  the  island  of  Calypso  for  its  centre,  and  the 
ocean  stream  for  its  circumference,  and  the  Elysian 
plains  in  the  locality  which  you  have  hitherto  as- 
signed to  New7  York,  you  would  call  the  Odyssey 
nonsense,  and  would  very  likely  pitch  it  into  the 
fire." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon  smiling.  "  I  very  prob- 
ably should." 

"  Precisely,"  said  Glanville,  "  and  so  should  I,  and 
all  of  us.  But  since  matters  are  as  they  are  —  since 
we  do  not  dream  of  considering  the  descriptions  of 
Homer  or  of  Dante  as  descriptions  of  objective  fact, 
or  indeed  as  having  any  relation  to  it :  since  our  minds 
are  not,  in  the  authority  of  Dante  or  Homer,  asked 
to  believe  in  any  actual  devil,  with  bat's  wings,  or  in 
any  circle  of  actual  ice,  or  in  any  actual  island  in  the 
middle  of  the  earth's  superfices,  or  in  any  actual 
winds  that  can  be  shut  up  in  coal-sacks  —  these  de- 
scriptions are  at  once  accepted  by  the  imagination. 
The  imagination  lifts  itself  on  the  wings  it  steals 
from  the  intellect;  and  impossible  falsehoods  be- 
come for  us  the  truest  and  most  sublime  poetry." 

While  Glanville  was  speaking,  his  friend  Lord  Res- 
tormel  had  been  looking  at  him.  The  unpleasant 
flash,  which  had  shone  for  a  moment  in  his  eye», 
when  Miss  Leighton  mentioned  her  unnamable  book, 
was  gone. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  Think  of  that  exquisite  pas- 
sage in  the  Purgatorio,  when  the  boat  comes  laden 
with  souls,  having  a  something  of  whiteness  for  the 
sails  of  it  —  the  sails  which  are  the  angels'  wings. 
On  the  imagination  Dante's  description  falls  like  dew 
on  a  flower.     Try  to  impress  it  on  the  intellect;  and 


The  World  to  the  Church      193 

you  'd  find  you  might  just  as  well  be  spitting  on  hot 
iron." 

"  Well/'  said  Glanville,  "  and  now  let  me  point  my 
moral.  What  is  true  of  the  poetry  of  poets  like 
Dante  and  Homer,  is  true  of  the  poetry  of  the  Bible. 
We  won't  speak  this  evening  of  its  moral  or  spiritual 
symbolism,  or  of  what  you,  Alistair,  this  afternoon 
called  its  allegorical  psychology.  We  will  merely 
prepare  ourselves  for  considering  this  to-morrow  by 
seeing  how  those  very  parts  of  it  which,  when 
touched  by  historical  criticism,  are  the  first  to  decom- 
pose into  childish,  and  monstrous  absurdities,  spring 
to  life  again  —  how  corruption  puts  on  incorruption 
—  the  moment  their  claims  to  historical  truth  are 
abandoned." 

I  can  't  quite  see,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  who  was  lis- 
tening patiently,  but  was  not  perfectly  clear  as  to  the 
drift  of  the  new  discussion,  "  in  what  wTay  this  ap- 
plies to  the  Psalms,  or  to  parts  of  Job.  There  is 
plenty  of  poetry  in  them;  but  it  touches  us  because 
we  believe  it  to  be  not  only  poetry,  but  truth.  It  is 
impossible  to  laugh  at  it  and  be  moved  by  it  at  the 
same  time." 

"  You  see,  Mrs.  Vernon,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  it 's 
this  way.  Mr.  Glanville  is  merely  speaking  of  al- 
leged miraculous  events,  as  to  which  we  can  say  defi- 
nitely that  they  either  did  happen  or  did  n't.  If  we 
worry  over  the  supposition  that  they  did,  we  can  't 
for  the  life  of  us  do  anything  but  deride  them  as  piti- 
able fables :  but  if  we  cease  to  obscure  our  minds  with 
any  idea  of  their  being  true  —  well,  then  at  once 
they  acquire  these  very  fine  poetic  qualities  —  or  at 


194        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

least  many  of  them  do  —  which  Mr.  Glanville  has 
described.     That  's  about  what  it  comes  to." 

"  I  can  't  think,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  that  even 
if  we  take  it  as  a  fairy-tale  we  can  make  very  much 
of  Elisha  and  the  little  gamins  who  laughed  at  him, 
and  the  bears  that  gobbled  them  up,  in  response  to 
the  holy  man's  horrible  and  absurd  curses." 

"  No,"  said  Lord  Restormel,  "  nor  of  Jonah's  whale 
either.  In  cases  like  these  Homer  certainly  nods. 
But  the  chariot  of  Elijah  —  the  chariot  of  Israel  and 
the  horsemen  thereof  —  the  mountains  surrounded 
with  the  chariots  and  the  horsemen  of  fire  —  the 
prophet's  retirement  to  the  desert,  to  Horeb  the 
mount  of  God  —  what  a  magic  in  those  mere  words ! 
—  and  the  feeding  of  the  prophet  by  the  ravens  — 
merely  to  read  of  these  things,  if  we  will  but  take 
them  as  poetry,  is  to  feel  one's  spirit  caught  up  in  the 
chariot  of  the  prophet  along  with  him." 

Mr.  Brompton,  although  as  the  priest  of  a  new  re- 
ligion he  was  accustomed  to  contrast  the  Bible,  very 
much  to  its  disadvantage,  with  Emerson's  Essays,  was 
so  much  moved  by  Lord  Eestormel's  appreciation  of 
it,  that  his  own  emulative  spirit  rose  to  the  occasion 
likewise.  "Ah,"  he  said,  "and  I  too,  after  my 
breach  with  my  late  Church,  when  I  was  maturing, 
and  yet  shrinking  from  my  scheme  of  forming  a  new 
one  —  when  I  shut  myself  up  alone  in  a  low-browed 
cottage  on  the  Clyde  — " 

"  Near  which,"  Mr.  Hancock  whispered  to  Lady 
Snowdon,  "  he  had  a  well-to-do  Protestant  uncle,  who 
left  him  thirty-thousand  shares  in  a  private  bank,  as 
a  reward  for  having  abandoned  Babylon." 

"When  I  was  brooding   and  hesitating  there," 


The  World  to  the  Church      195 

Mr.  Brompton  continued,  "  I  was  often  moved  to  my 
very  soul  by  the  thought  of  those  living  words, 
1  What  doest  thou  here  Elijah? '  " 

Mr.  Brompton  supplemented  this  confession  by 
the  modest  adoption  of  a  rapt  and  inscrutable  atti- 
tude: and  Mr.  Hancock,  not  to  be  behindhand  in 
the  matter  of  taste  and  feeling,  began  to  cite  some 
examples  of  Biblical  poetry  on  his  own  account.  He 
was,  however,  slightly  annoyed  by  the  fact  that 
Glanville  meanwhile  began  whispering  to  Lord  Res- 
tormel:  and  he  was  soon  annoyed  still  more  to  see 
him,  when  the  whispers  were  over,  go  into  the  house, 
apparently  with  the  purpose  of  fetching  something. 
Such  indeed  proved  to  be  the  case,  for  he  very  shortly 
came  back  again  with  some  sheets  of  paper  in  his 
hand  and  this  at  once  excited  so  much  general  curi- 
osity that  Mr.  Hancock's  happiest  quotation  came 
to  a  premature  end.  "  I  want,"  Glanville  said,  "  to 
have  a  few  words  with  our  chairman."  Mr.  Han- 
cock at  once  was  soothed.  Glanville  sat  down  be- 
side him;  and  the  papers  being  placed  in  the  lamp- 
light, some  murmured  observations  followed,  which 
Mr.  Hancock  concluded  with  a  nod  of  complete  in- 
telligence. 

"  In  order,"  he  said,  "  to  illustrate  the  point  we 
have  just  been  dwelling  on,  a  document  has  been 
placed  in  my  hands,  parts  of  which  the  author  will 
read  out  to  us.  The  author  is  Lord  Restormel:  and 
if  he  will  kindly  come  to  the  lamp,  I  shall  be  proud 
to  give  up  my  seat  to  him." 

Lord  Restormel,  with  an  air  of  indolent  acquies- 
cence, which  could  not  quite  conceal  the  fact  that  he 
was  at  once  pleased  and  reluctant,  rose,  and  taking 


196        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

the  seat  indicated,  looked  on  his  own  composition 
with  that  smile  of  assumed  indifference  under  which 
authors,  on  such  occasions,  hide  their  affection  for 
their  offspring. 

"  I  'm  afraid,"  he  said,  "  that  this  trifle,  which  I 
had  quite  forgotten,  but  with  a  copy  of  which  Mr. 
Glanville  has  confronted  me,  will  require  a  little  ex- 
planation. It  was  begun  as  a  joke.  The  occasion 
which  gave  rise  to  it  was  this.  The  late  Lord  and 
Lady  Wyvern,  who  were  fond  of  all  strange  people, 
passed  most  of  their  latter  years  at  a  watering-place 
on  my  Cornish  property,  and  it  so  happened  that,  a 
villa  not  far  from  theirs,  was  one  fine  day  taken  by  a 
singular  tenant,  who  was  partly  English  and  partly, 
I  believe,  Persian.  His  name  was  Zara  Grainger ;  and 
he  was  described  in  the  Visitors  List  not  as  Esquire, 
but  Prince.  Needless  to  say  the  Wyverns  sought 
his  acquaintance.  The  Persian  Prince  looked  the 
part  to  perfection.  He  had  dark  restless  eyes,  a 
beard  like  an  Assyrian  king's,  and  a  strange  Astra- 
kan  cap,  like  nothing  else  in  the  world.  The  end  of 
the  matter  was  that  this  mysterious  being  fell  in 
love  with  Miriam  Lumsden,  the  Wyvern' s  only 
daughter.  For  a  time  he  confined  himself  to  sigh- 
ing and  making  eyes  at  her;  but  meeting  with  no 
response  he  finally  wrote  to  her  father,  saying  that 
she  had  been  his  wife  in  some  former  state  of  exist- 
ence, that  they  had  had  a  numerous  family,  and  that 
he  was  determined  to  be  reunited  to  her.  The  whole 
story  seemed  so  much  like  a  parody  of  one  of  the 
stories  in  Lalla  Rookh  that  I  tried  for  Miss  Lums- 
den's  amusement  to  make  a  version  of  it  in  Moore's 


The  World  to  the  Church      197 

style.     I  did  well  enough  with  a  canto.     I  endowed 
Miriam  with 

'A  gaze  that  seems 
To  see  her  native  heaven  in  dreams- ' 

I  made  Zara  claim  an  ancestry  of  princely  '  fire- 
worshippers  with  ever-burning  mountain  altars.' 

Miriam  was  a  devout  Mahometan,  and  I  brought 
in  Allah  and  Eblis  and 

'The  bridge  like  a  knife-edge,  that  spans  the  abyss' 

and  so  on.  I  think  I  may  say  without  vanity  that 
most  of  my  lines  were  as  good  as  Moore's  own:  but 
what  struck  me  was  the  poverty  of  the  sources  from 
which  Moore  drew  his  inspiration.  My  story,  how- 
ever, as  it  went  on,  led  me  insensibly  away  into  leg- 
ends of  another  kind.  I  was  at  once  conscious  of  a 
difference.  These  other  legends,  although  I  was 
merely  playing  with  them  had  a  poetic  something 
which  in  spite  of  myself,  made  me  serious.  My  later 
verses  showed  this;  and  for  this  reason  Mr.  Glanville 
has  asked  me  to  read  them  to  you.  Zara,  according 
to  me,  is  a  lunatic  escaped  from  Bedlam.  He  darkly 
speaks  of  it  as  his  palace,  which  he  has  left  that  he 
may  seek  Miriam;  and  the  denouement  is  that  the 
warders  catch  him  on  the  beach,  when  he  lands  from 
Miriam's  boat  which  he  had  entered  as  a  pretended 
sailor.  The  only  part  which  Mr.  Glanville  wants 
me  to  read  to  you  describes  the  visit  which  Zara  pays 
to  Lord  Wyvern,  when  he  boldly  demands  his  daugh- 
ter of  him.  The  Canto  begins  thus  —  still  more  or 
less  a  la  Moore:— 


198        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

*  'Tis  blest  to  hear  that  lute  in  heaven 

Which  is  the  heart  of  Israfel, 
And  Eblis'  brow,  with  thunder  riven, 

Still  keeps  some  gleams  of  heaven  in  hell; 
For  next  to  those,  whose  bliss  is  won, 

Who  bow  before  the  eternal  name, 
Are  those  who  bow  the  head  to  none, 

And  go  contented  in  the  flame; 
But  truly  cursed,  and  cursed  alone, 

Unscathed  by  fire,  unhealed  by  peace. 
Those  tribes  whom  heaven  and  hell  disown 
And  Zara  is  the  prince  of  these.' 


"  Well,  my  hero,  as  soon  as  he  is  introduced  into 
Lord  Wyvern's  smoking-room,  states  his  business, 
and  gives  him  an  account  of  his  family. 


'I  am  a  prince/  he  said,  l  whose  line 
Is  longer  and  more  proud  than  thine. 
Still  on  the  altars  of  my  sires 
Burn  to  the  Sun  their  Gheber  fires. 
Their  fires  had  long  begun  to  blaze, 
Ere  the  first  smoke-wreath  grey  and  dim 
By  Jordan's  banks,  through  violet  haze 
Bose  from  the  tents  of  Ibrahim. 
Ere  Yussuf  left  his  garment  where 
He  should  have  laid  his  heart  instead 
Ere  Tyrian  seas  had  bled  to  share 
Their  purples  with  Aholah's  bed, 
My  fathers  reigned;  and  prince  and  priest, 
Heir,  of  my  sacred  fathers,  I.? 


He  then  goes  on  to  describe  his  lordly  dwelling, 
with  the  walls,  gates,  and  warders  —  a  building 
whose  very  name  were  it  merely  written  in  English, 
would  terrify  the  English  reader.     He  will,  how- 


The  World  to  the  Church       199 

ever,  he  says,  for  Lord  Wyvern's  satisfaction,  write 
it  in  his  own  tongue, 


Whose  scripture  runs 
A  course  that's  counter  to  the  sun's : 

and  inscribes  on   a  sheet   of  note-paper   the  word 
Lambed,  which  is  merely  Bedlam  inverted. 

He  pushed  the  scroll  to  Miriam's  sire. 
The  Giaour  has  cast  it  in  the  fire. 
With  haughty  heel  he  ground  the  floor. 
"  Begone,"  he  cried,  "  behold  the  door 
And  if  to  Miriam's  eyes  again, 
In  crowded  road  or  leafy  lane 
You  should  so  much  as  lift  an  eye, 
Or  greet  her  with  a  smile  or  sigh, 
We  have  our  faithful  warders  too 
With  helmed  brows,  and  garb  of  blue, 
And  truncheons,  who  shall  make  you  flee 
To  Lambed  or  to  hell  for  me." 

Still  as  a  statue  Zara  stood; 

But  in  his  cheeks  the  hot  dark  blood 

Began  to  burn.     His  clustering  curls 
Grew  damp.     His  eyes  were  liquid  fires 
Bright  as  the  altars  of  his  sires 

Mirrored  in  Persian  gulf  of  pearls. 

"  Hearken,"  he  cried,  "  you  bid  me  go. 

But  ere  I  leave  you,  Christian  know " 

He  paused.     A  curtain  stirred ;  and  there 
Was  Miriam's  self,  who  faced  the  pair. 
"  Aha !  "  cried  Zara.     "  Christian,  see- 
Let  Miriam  judge  'twixt  me  and  thee. 
You  bid  me  go,  nor  dare  to  raise 
One  humble  glance  to  drink  her  gaze, 


200        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

Nor  e'en  to  tread  the  dust  which  feels 
The  pressure  of  her  pointed  heels. 
Proud  fool,  you  little  know  she's  mine, 

Already  mine,  my  queen,  my  bride, 
Nor  by  the  maze  of  what  strange  brine 

The  indissoluble  knot  was  tied." 

"  My  sire,  he  raves."     And  Miriam's  cheek, 

Which  sought  her  sire's  was  white  with  fear. 

"  Speak,"  said  her  sire.     "  Impostor,  speak, 
Tell  me  the  day,  the  church,  the  year." 

"  The  year !  "  cried  Zara.     "  Christian  know 
It  was  three  thousand  years  ago." 

Then  to  the  maid  he  turned  again, 

And  spake  to  her  in  gentler  strain. 

"  Oh  fairest  and  first  of  the  fugitive's  daughters, 

Has  it  gone  from  your  soul  how  we  stood  by  the  wave 
And  our  sandals  were  wet  with  the  wash  of  the  waters, 

When  we  started  and  knew  that  we  gazed  on  a  grave, 
And  the  sea-gulls  were  flying,  the  foam-crest  was  leaping 
And  the  billows  were  loud  where  the  foeman  was  sleeping 
And  you  broke  into  song?    I  remember  it  yet. 
Can  Zara  remember,  and  Miriam  forget?" 

"  Your  words,"  said  Miriam's  sire,  "  are  wild. 
Go,  for  you  agitate  my  child." 
But  Zara  stirred  not.     One  long  breath 

He  drew  into  his  heaving  breast, 
And  fierce  as  life  and  stern  as  death 

Broke  out  again  like  one  possessed. 

"  I  heard  her  timbrels  on  the  air. 

I  heard  her  words  beyond  the  wind. 

Those  hands  with  which  your  own  are  twined 
Were  wild  with  Israel's  music  there : 
And  Christian,  thou  hast  read,  I  ween, 
Of  what  her  eyes  and  mine  have  seen. 


The  World  to  the  Church      201 

We  saw  the  chariots  plunge  their  way 

Between  the  walls  of  chrysoprase. 
Through  fringes  of  the  frozen  spray 

We  saw  the  trampling  bow-men  pass. 
The  tufted  standards  caught  the  air, 

Like  shipless  masts  that  cut  the  seas. 
We  heard  the  far-off  trumpets  blare. 

We  heard  the  shouting  companies. 
We  saw  the  priests  their  cymbals  toss — 

We  heard  the  hymns  to  Ea  and  Turn, 
And  'neath  their  helmets'  golden  gloss 

We  saw  the  brows  of  Pharaoh  come 
We  marked  his  burnished  buckler  flash, 

The  harnessed  flanks,  the  streaming  manes, 
The  circlings  of  the  far-flung  lash, 

The  quivering  of  the  crimson  reins 
We  heard  his  tires  upon  the  stones 

Which  had  not  seen  the  heavens  till  then, 
And,  mingled  now  with  bronze  and  bones, 

Shall  see  nor  moons  nor  suns  again 
We  closed  our  eyes  like  children  lost, 

When  to  our  feet  a  great  wave  clomb 
We  looked  again,  and  all  that  host 

Was  one  thin  line  of  wavering  foam. 
Then  from  your  lips  broke  forth  the  chaunt 

Which  still  in  Zara's  heart  is  loud ; 
And  there  our  bridal  covenant 

Was  pledged  between  the  fire  and  cloud." 

Lord  Restormel  paused ;  and  being  rewarded  by  a 
request  to  continue,  "  Here,"  he  said,  "  Zara  appeals 
with  his  eyes  to  Miriam;  and  gets  in  return  nothing 
but  a  blank  stare.  He  is  pained,  but  not  daunted. 
He  draws  himself  up,  and  tells  her  with  a  lofty  ten- 
derness that  her  cold  behavior  does  but  bind  her  to 
him  by  another  link  of  recollections.     Miriam  and 


202        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

her  father  are  too  much  astonished  to  interrupt  him; 
and  he  proceeds: 

"  Oh  thus  divided  heart  from  heart, 

Before  the  awful  mountain's  side, 
Once  in  a  tent  we  kneeled  apart 

And  for  three  days  were  sanctified — 
Three  days,  until  the  trumpet's  throat 

Shouted,  and  lo,  before  our  eyes, 
Like  wings  a  darkness  came  and  smote 

The  spires  that  crowded  in  the  skies. 
The  smoke,  like  packs  of  noiseless  wool, 

Came  smouldering  down  on  gorge  and  glen. 
The  darkness  deepened.    In  the  lull 

We  heard  our  two  hearts  beat :   and  then — 
Out  of  the  midnight  leapt  the  flame. 

Out  of  the  muteness  like  a  flood 
The  shatterings  of  the  thunder  came, 

And  all  the  world  was  dumb  with  God." 

"You  see,"  said  Glanville  to  Mrs.  Vernon, 
"  though  he  was  laughing  just  now  at  the  story  of  the 
Ked  Sea  and  the  temporary  volcano  of  Sinai,  he  can 
still  detect  something  in  them  which  is  not  merely 
ridiculous." 

"  Next,"  resumed  Lord  Eestormel,  "  Zara  goes  on 
to  remind  her  of  how  the  prophet  toiled  up  the  moun- 
tain, in  grey  robes,  to  meet  the  thunder  and  the 
throne;  how  the  people,  in  his  absence,  made  the 
golden  calf,  and,  still  half  blind  and  deaf  with  the 
thunder  and  lightning  of  Jehovah,  sang  and  danced 
to  an  idol  less  able  to  hear  and  to  see  them,  than  they 
themselves  were  to  see  and  to  hear  each  other;  how 
the  prophet  at  last  came  down  like  a  descending  star, 
and  how,  on  the  slope, — 


The  World  to  the  Church      203 

There,  where  the  vapors  tore  their  shrouds 

His  star-like  face  was  manifest. 
His  grey  robes  now  were  glistering  clouds 

That  turn  to  lilac  in  the  west: 
And  in  his  sacred  hands  we  saw 
The  tables  of  the  eternal  law. 

Then  comes  the  prophet's  indignation.  The  tables 
of  the  law  are  broken ;  and  Zara  exclaims  to  Miriam, 

We  marked  the  fragments,  where  they  lay, 

And  now  if  Miriam's  heart  is  dumb, 
The  heart  of  Zara  breaks  as  they. 

"Miriam,"  continued  Lord  Restormel,  "is  still 
speechless:  but  Zara  is  not  nonplussed  even  now. 
He  stamps  his  foot,  draws  himself  up  to  his  full 
height,  and  in  a  tone  of  lofty  melancholy  begins 
again. 

'  I  will  be  heard.     My  bride  shall  heed — 

Shall  heed  me  yet,'  said  Zara.     '  I 
Will  make  that  frosted  bosom  bleed 

With  one  last  thorn  of  memory. 
Hearken,  whilst  Zara  speaks  of  one 

Whose  bones  and  tissues  knew  the  night, 
And  were  not,  till  they  saw  the  sun 

Re-born,  and  rose  my  Shulamite. 
Her  breasts  were  grapes.     Her  stature  sprang 

A  palm's :   and  still  those  ears  are  shells 
Which  hold  the  hours  when  Zara  sang 

His  Canticle  of  Canticles. 


Tell  me,  can  Miriam's  memory  miss 
The  echoings  of  a  song  like  this? 


204        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

The  turtle's  voice  is  in  the  tree; 

The  figs  are  green;   the  rains  are  gone. 
Arise  my  fair  one,  come  with  me — 

With  me,  my  love,  to  Lebanon. 

Arise  my  fair  one,  come  with  me, 
Where  Abana  or  Pharphar  stirs ; 

And  thine  some  milk-white  lodge  shall  be 
That  shines  among  the  cucumbers. 

My  love  hath  risen  and  come.     My  love 
Is  mine.     In  mine  her  hand  is  myrrh. 

Her  bed  is  green.     Her  roof  above 
Is  Cedar,  and  the  beams  are  fir. 

Her  doors  are  closed.     Let  no  man  dare 
To  break  her  dreaming  till  she  choose. 

Oh  love  the  night  is  in  my  hair, 
My  locks  are  laden  with  the  dews. 

My  undefiled,  my  love,  my  dove — 
A  soothing  stirs — 'tis  come,  'tis  gone. 

I  lift  my  hand.     The  hinges  move. 
The  latch  is  sweet  with  cinnamon. 

My  love,  my  dove,  my  undefiled 
My  spouse,  my  sister,  and  my  child — 
A  greeting  for  the  sister's  ear, 
And  for  the  little  child  a  tear : 
But  oh  my  bride,  I  halt  afraid. 

Stay  me  with  flagons !     Comfort  me 
With  apples,  ere  my  lips  are  laid 

Upon  the  tower  of  ivory! 

Oh  fear  not — loveliest,  fear  not.     Lo, 
I  bring  you  gifts  of  fire  and  snow. 
Fear  not  my  own,     From  every  hour 

That  comes  like  this,  my  bride  to  be, 
A  new  virginity  shall  flower 

My  more  than  maid,  for  me. 


The  World  to  the  Church      205 

Beneath  the  bed's  embroideries 

Thy  limbs  are  like  a  wave.     Thy  feet 

Are  ivory.     In  thy  brows  and  eyes 
The  ivory  and  the  midnight  meet. 

Thou  hast  dove's  eyes  within  thine  hair. 

Thy  lips  are  scarlet,  and  from  thence 
A  something  stirs  that's  like  the  air 

Blown  from  the  hills  of  frankincense, 

Which  murmur — what?     Upon  that  word 
Behold  I  seal  thee  with  a  seal " 

Lord  Restormel  here  broke  off  with  a  laugh.  "  I 
did  n't,"  he  said,  "  get  any  farther  than  that  — " 

"  And  I  'm  sure,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  it  was  a 
very  good  thing  you  did  n't." 


BOOK   V 
A  Midsummer  Night's  Waking 


CHAPTER   I 

'  i  T  THINK,"  said  Lady  Snowden  to  Lord  Restor- 
*  mel,  the  following  day  at  luncheon,  "  you  en- 
dowed Solomon,  in  some  of  your  verses  to  the  Shula- 
mite,  with  a  delicacy  of  feeling  which  he  would  prob- 
ably not  have  understood." 

"  Then  let  us,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  who  was  now  her 
ordinary  self  again,  "  pay  Lord  Restormel  the  com- 
pliment of  supposing  that  this  delicacy  is  his  own. 
His  sentiments  are  always  beautiful.  I  ?m  not  so 
certain  about  his  conduct." 

"  Have  you  ever,"  said  Lord  Restormel  —  "I  We 
no  doubt  you  have,  for  you  ?re  sure  to  be  a  church- 
goer —  noticed  how  your  own  voice,  if  you  sing  in 
concert  with  others,  seems  to  acquire  the  volume 
which  belongs  to  the  congregation  and  the  organ  ?  I 
felt  as  soon  as  I  began  to  associate  my  own  jingle  with 
the  incidents  and  imagery  of  the  Bible,  that  the  tones 
of  a  great  organ  had  associated  themselves  with  my 
pipe  of  straw.  Cease  to  think  the  Biblical  books  in- 
spired, and  there 's  no  literature  to  compare  with 
them.  By  the  way,  Rupert,  I  got  this  morning  the 
last  Report  of  our  own  trade  with  Germany ;   and  if 

206 


A   Night's   Waking  207 

you,  my  dear  fellow,  are  to  be  president  of  the  new 
Commission,  there  's  one  question  to  which  you  must 
give  your  solemn  attention.  Is  pig-iron  a  manufac- 
ture, or  is  it  a  raw  material?  Before  post-time  I 
wish  you  'd  have  a  look  at  the  paper." 

"  Let  us  come  at  once  then,"  said  Glanville.  "  The 
post  leaves  in  an  hour." 

"  What,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Vernon  eagerly.  "  Is 
Mr.  Glanville  going  back  into  politics  ?  " 

"  Who  knows  ?  "  said  Glanville.  "  Now,  Kestor- 
mel,  are  you  ready  ?  And  Hancock,  meanwhile,  will 
you  explain  to  our  friends,  our  moral  and  intellectual 
programme  for  this  afternoon  and  this  evening  ?  " 

Mr.  Hancock  looked  as  if  he  would  have  liked  to 
follow  the  statesmen ;  but  as  this  was  not  suggested, 
he  engaged  to  do  what  was  asked  of  him. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  began,  "  Miss  Leighton  has  not 
been  told  that  having  done  with  miraculous  religion 
we  are  going  to  pass  on  to  natural  religion,  and  to  ask 
how  much  or  how  little  is  likely  to  be  left  us  of  the 
last,  by  that  modern  system  of  knowledge  which  has 
proved  such  a  solvent  of  the  first." 

"  I  was  n't,"  said  Miss  Leighton,  "  told  that :  but  I 
was  sagacious  enough  to  assume  it.  It  seems  to  me 
to  be  the  point  of  the  whole  proceedings." 

Mr.  Hancock  felt  slightly  snubbed.  "Well,"  he 
went  on  incisively,  "  in  order  to  discuss  this  same 
natural  religion  to  any  purpose,  as  we  hope  to  do  this 
evening,  it  will  be  necessary  —  for  the  term,  as  you 
know,  Miss  Leighton,  is  very  loosely  used  —  I  dare 
say  even  you  could  hardly  give  me  a  definition 
of  it— " 

"  I  could  n't,"  said  Miss  Leighton,  "  give  a  defini- 


208        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

tion  of  anything  —  not  even  of  a  pair  of  shoes  —  to 
any  man  who  looked  as  alarming  as  you  do." 

Mr.  Hancock  was  appeased.  He  relapsed  into  his 
usual  bonhomie,  "  Mr.  Glanville  proposes,"  he  went 
on  —  "  ah,  Miss  Leighton,  you  're  a  very  clever  young 
lady  —  Mr.  Glanville  proposes  that  we  should  con- 
sider this  afternoon  what  natural  religion  is  — 
what 's  at  the  bottom  of  all  our  minds  when  we  speak 
of  it  —  before  we  begin  asking,  as  we  hope  to  do  this 
evening,  whether  or  no  we  have  any  intellectual  right 
to  it.  Well,  Miss  Leighton,  here  we  come  to  our  lit- 
erary digression  of  last  night.  Lord  Restormel  sum- 
med up  just  now  in  one  of  those  capital  phrases  of 
his,  the  immediate  conclusion  to  which  it  led  us. 
Cease  to  think  the  Biblical  books  inspired,  and 
there 's  no  literature  to  be  compared  with  them. 
From  this  conclusion  Mr.  Glanville  wants  to  draw 
us  on  to  another.  Cease  to  think  of  the  Christian 
religion  supernatural,  and  there  's  no  example  of  nat- 
ural religion  so  instructive.  He  proposes,  therefore 
—  I  ?m  not  quite  certain  how  —  to  give  us  natural 
religion  as  the  residuum  at  the  bottom  of  the  Christ- 
ian melting-pot." 

"  I,"  said  Seaton,  "  am  entirely  of  Mr.  Glanville' s 
opinion." 

"  Ah,"  said  Mr.  Brompton  solemnly,  "  if  he  had 
spoken  of  Christian  ethics  instead  of  the  Christian 
religion  —  the  glad  service  of  man  —  But  he  seems 
to  me,  as  it  is,  to  be  quite  on  the  wrong  tack." 

"  I,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  should  make  an  objec- 
tion also.  If  we  must  give  up  our  old  beliefs  we 
must :  but  I  do  n't  see  how  we  can  call  a  religion  nat- 
ural which,   if   not   supernatural,   is   nothing.     We 


A    Night's    Waking  209 

might  just  as  well  go  on  believing  in  a  telegram  about 
a  battle  in  China,  after  it  was  shown  to  have  been 
concocted  in  the  office  of  a  Fleet-street  newspaper." 

"  You  had  better,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  put  all 
this  to  Mr.  Glanville  himself.  Meanwhile,  if  he 
did  n't  mention  it,  I  have  one  more  thing  to  tell  you. 
We  're  to  have  tea  amongst  the  ruins  of  the  old  Abbey 
above  the  garden.  I  believe  they  're  well  worth  see- 
ing ;  and  if  any  of  you  want  to  recover  your  primi- 
tive faith,  there  's  a  stone  there  with  two  holes  in  it 
made  by  St.  Patrick's  knees." 

The  ruins,  which  Glanville  and  Seaton  had  visited 
on  the  day  of  their  arrival,  justified  Mr.  Hancock's 
belief  about  them.  They  were  not,  indeed,  extensive. 
They  consisted,  in  addition  to  the  chapel,  merely  of 
some  cloisters  which  lost  themselves  in  thickets  of 
mounded  ivy;  but  their  situation  was  beautiful. 
They  rose  from  an  irregular  plat  form,  which  was  sleek 
with  turf ;  and  only  the  turf,  and  one  or  two  garden 
seats,  betrayed,  except  on  occasions,  the  neighborhood 
of  contemporary  man.  Unless  the  spectator  stood  at 
the  edge  of  the  platform,  the  villa  and  its  gardens 
were  hidden  from  him.  On  the  landward  side  were 
steeply  ascending  woods ;  and  on  the  seaward,  nothing 
was  visible  but  the  fields  of  the  sea  itself,  and  one 
grey  rock  round  which  the  summer  waves  to-day  were 
leaping  in  milky  foam,  like  a  pack  of  fawning 
hounds. 

By  half  past  four  one  of  the  garden  seats  was  il- 
luminated by  some  patches  of  color  which  would  have 
sent  the  monks  to  their  rosaries.  There  was  the 
whiteness  of  a  lady's  dress,  the  redness  of  the  poppies 
in  her  hat,  and  the  redness  of  a  parasol  supported  by 


210        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

a  hand  in  a  white  glove.  From  the  shadows  of  the 
parasol  the  dark  eyes  of  Miss  Leighton  were  looking 
fixedly  at  the  sea ;  and  her  whole  pose  showed  a  cer- 
tain suave  contentment  in  being,  as  she  was,  her  host's 
sole  companion.  Some  women  captivate  by  fixing 
their  eyes  on  men's :  Miss  Leighton  could  use  hers  in 
a  way  that  was  much  more  flattering  —  a  way  which 
seemed  to  suggest  that  no  direct  glance  was  necessary. 

"  This,"  she  was  saying,  "  reminds  me  of  my  own 
home  —  an  old  abbey  in  Wales.  It,  too,  has  a  chapel 
above  the  sea ;  and  Sunday  after  Sunday,  when  I  'm 
there,  I  play  the  organ.  Our  afternoon  service  here 
will  be  very  much  more  exciting.  I  '11  tell  you,  Mr. 
Glanville,"  she  went  on,  "  what  I  like  about  you,  and 
Lord  Restormel  also  —  if  he  was  n't  quite  so  mate- 
rial. It  is  that  you  talk  about  these  religious  ques- 
tions as  if  they  were  things  in  which  men  of  the  world 
have  an  interest,  and  about  which  they  have  a  right 
to  talk  because  they  are  men  of  the  world.  You  dis- 
cuss them  as  people  discuss  other  important  matters. 
You  do  n't  make  absurd  good  faces  over  them,  as  if 
you  had  swallowed  senna,  and  put  on  an  absurd  good 
voice.  For  that  matter  no  more  does  Mr.  Han- 
cock. Hark  —  I  can  hear  him  now.  There  they 
come  —  the  whole  lot  of  them.  But,"  she  said  ris- 
ing, "  Mr.  Hancock  reminds  me  of  a  water-wagtail 
washing  himself  in  an  intellectual  saucer.  One 
can  't  imagine  a  woman  with  a  passion  for  Mr.  Han- 
cock." 

"  So  you  see,"  said  Glanville,  to  his  friends  who 
were  now  approaching,  "  we  are  on  the  scene  of  action 
before  you.  Everything  is  ready.  Tea  is  in  the 
chapel.     We  shall  be  cooler  there  than  outside:  and 


A  Night's  Waking  211 

we  '11  boil  the  kettle  when  we  want  it.  As  for  you, 
Hancock,  your  chairman's  table  is  prepared,  unless 
you  would  sooner  ensconce  yourself  in  the  curious  old 
stone  pulpit." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Hancock  presently,  when,  the 
view  having  been  duly  praised,  the  party  was  settling 
itself  in  the  luminous  twilight  of  a  building  parts  of 
whose  roof  remained,  though  the  tracery  of  its  win- 
dows was  broken,  "  the  chairman's  business  this  after- 
noon will  not  be .  a  very  long  one  —  because,  Mr. 
Glanville,  in  accordance  with  your  suggestion,  I  've 
explained  the  general  nature  of  our  present  subject 
already.  Still,  I  may  as  well  sum  matters  up  in  a 
word  or  two.  If  no  religion  has  been  revealed  to  us 
in  any  special  and  supernatural  way,  it  stands  to  rea- 
son that,  in  a  sense,  all  religions  must  be  natural  — 
the  outcome  of  our  own  natures.  The  superstitions 
of  savages  are  natural  religions  of  a  kind.  But  what 
we  have  to  do  with  now  is  not  the  religion  of  sav- 
ages. It 's  natural  religion  as  understood  by  thought- 
ful and  educated  men.  We  want  to  find  out  what 
is  the  essence  of  this  —  the  irreducible  minimum, 
to  use  grand  old  Gladstone's  phrase,  of  feelings  and 
beliefs  involved  in  it ;  and  Mr.  Glanville  proposes  to 
get  at  this  essence  by  distilling  it  from  the  Christ- 
ianity of  the  Churches.  I  ought  to  warn  him  that 
one  or  two  of  our  company  think  he  is  setting  to  work 
in  a  roundabout  —  perhaps  in  a  wrong  —  way.  We 
shall  see.  Well,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  Mr.  Glan- 
ville will  now  address  us." 

"  I  hope,"  said  Glanville,  "  I  may  be  able  to  re- 
move your  objections.  Mr.  Hancock  has  just  given 
me  two  texts  to  preach  from.     We  are  not  now  con- 


212        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

cerned,  he  said,  with  the  natural  religions  of  savages. 
I  interpret  him  as  referring  to  the  way  in  which 
primitive  man  explained  the  operations  of  nature  as- 
cribing them  to  a  host  of  little  man-like  deities. 
Such  religion  is  nothing  but  a  child's  substitute  for 
science ;  and  if  the  sole  office  of  religion  were  to  ex- 
plain the  operations  of  nature,  science  long  ago  would 
have  wiped  it  out  of  existence.  Men  have  fought  for 
the  doctrine  that  God  made  the  world,  merely  be- 
cause they  considered  it  essentially  bound  up  with 
the  doctrine  that  a  God  exists  who  has  dealing  with 
the  human  soul." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  with  an  air  of  critical 
detachment.     "  I  suppose  we  may  admit  that." 

"  Religion  then,"  said  Glanville,  "  in  our  present 
sense  of  the  word  is  primarily  concerned  with  the 
nature  and  the  destiny  of  the  human  soul,  and  now 
for  the  second  text  which  Mr.  Hancock  has  given  me. 
If  no  religion  is  supernatural,  all  religions  are  nat- 
ural. I  admit  that  at  first  this  sounds  like  a  plati- 
tude :  but  it 's  not  one.  It  means  that  every  religion, 
which  has  claimed  to  be  supernatural  and  miraculous, 
is  really  the  human  soul  appealing,  and  explaining 
itself,  to  itself:  and  religions  have  spread,  and  have 
been  influential  and  enduring,  in  exact  proportion 
as  they  have  touched  and  expressed,  and  satisfied  cer- 
tain wants,  and  hopes,  and  feelings,  which  were  ele- 
ments of  human  nature  already." 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  Mr.  Brompton,  "  for  inter- 
rupting you.  But  in  all  miraculous  religions  there 
is  the  element  of  deliberate  imposture.  You  do  n't 
know  priestcraft  as  I  do.  What  do  you  say  of  these 
two  precious   modern   doctrines,   which   have  been 


A  Night's  Waking  213 

draped  round  the  Madonna  like  two  new  spangled 
petticoats  —  the  doctrine  of  the  Assumption,  and  the 
other  one  ?  Or  what  of  the  nauseous  story  of  Mar- 
garet Mary  Alacoque?  Artificial,  my  dear  sir, — 
that 's  what  these  stories  are  —  not  natural." 

"  Let  us  admit,"  said  Glanville,  "  that  to  any  mi- 
raculous religion  certain  miraculous  doctrines  may 
be  added  in  the  manner  you  suggest.  But  they  are 
merely  parasitic  additions  to  an  organic  body  of 
others,  which  owe  their  origin  and  acceptance  to  very 
different  causes.  You  '11  understand  me  better  when 
I  Ve  explained  myself  a  little  more  in  detail.  Dur- 
ing our  first  Conference  Mr.  Hancock  called  me  to 
order  for  beginning  to  explain  that  a  passage  in  the 
Nicene  Creed  was  not  less  impressive  as  a  fiction, 
than  it  would  have  been  had  it  expressed  a  fact. 
*  Who  for  us  men  and  for  our  salvation  came  down 
from  heaven  ' —  that  was  the  passage  I  referred  to. 
Think  of  it.  Think  what  a  light  this  doctrine,  if  it 
does  not  record  an  event,  throws  on  the  abysses  of  the 
human  mind,  which  could  conceive  such  an  event  and 
believe  it  to  have  taken  place !  Think  again  of  an- 
other —  the  doctrine  that  God,  mangled  and  bleed- 
ing, is  turned  by  magic  into  a  bit  of  bread,  and  that 
human  souls  are  saved  from  Hell  by  eating  it.  This, 
taken  by  itself,  is  an  invention  as  disgusting  and 
childish  as  anything  we  could  find  in  the  religions  of 
the  lowest  savage:  and  yet  no  doctrine  has  had  an 
effect  more  profound  on  men  of  the  loftiest  intellect, 
and  the  most  exalted  life;  and  the  explanation  of 
this  fact  —  seemingly  so  paradoxical  —  is  that  the 
absurdity  of  what  the  doctrine  states  is  the  measure 
of  the  profundity  of  what  it  symbolizes.     Both  these 


214        The  VeiI  of  the  TemPle 

doctrines  are  symbols,  are  expressions,  are  revelations 
made  by  man  to  himself,  of  what  the  Churches  call 
man's  sense  of  sin,  of  his  instinctive  demand  for  de- 
liverance from  it,  and  his  instinctive  belief  that 
some  deliverance  is  possible/' 

"Ah,"  groaned  Mr.  Brompton, — "the  sense  of 
sin  —  that  ?s  the  human  weakness  on  which  all  the 
old  Churches  trade." 

"  I  am  not  discussing,"  said  Glanville,  "  whether 
it 's  a  weakness  of  human  nature  or  not.  All  I  am 
pointing  out  now  is  that  it 's  a  fact  of  human  nature : 
and  the  more  completely  you  rid  your  mind  of  all 
ideas  of  supernatural  revelation,  the  more  clearly  you 
will  realize  that  this  sense  of  sin  is  natural." 

"  I  would  venture  to  remark,"  said  Mr.  Brompton, 
"  that  many  races  have  shown  small  trace  of  it ;  and 
my  view, —  our  view  —  the  view  of  the  Ethical 
Church  is,  that  it  is  merely  a  pain  which  mistakes  its 
own  nature  and  origin,  and  is  trying  to  cure  itself  by 
a  totally  wrong  medicine." 

"My  dear  Mr.  Brompton,"  said  Mr.  Hancock, 
"  we  are  all  very  much  hoping,  when  the  time  comes, 
to  hear  you  speak  as  an  apostle  of  the  Ethical 
Church :  but  the  views  of  that  particular  body  are  not 
yet  under  discussion.  I  think  we  have  all  of  us 
grasped  Mr.  Glanville's  meaning  thus  far.  He 
means  that  the  sense  of  sin  —  a  distress  of  natural 
origin  —  has  given  rise  to  the  doctrines  he  refers  to, 
instead  of  the  doctrines  giving  rise  to  the  sense  of  sin, 
just  as  —  if  I  may  put  it  in  an  illustration  of  my 
own  —  it  was  the  course  of  the  sun  that  gave  rise  to 
the  myth  of  Apollo,  not  the  myth  of  Apollo  that  made 
men  believe  in  daylight." 


A   Night's   Waking  215 

"Precisely/'  said  Mr.  Glanville.  "  Mr.  Seaton 
the  other  day  was  expressing  the  same  idea.  He 
called  the  miracles  of  Christ's  nature  and  life  the 
solar  myths  of  the  conscience." 

"  And  now,"  said  Seaton,  "  I  suppose  I  may  finish 
a  sentence  which  Mr.  Hancock  yesterday  was  cruel 
enough  to  cut  short  in  the  middle.  I  was  going  to 
say  that  the  doctrine  of  the  Fall  also  was  merely  a 
symbolical  expression  of  this  same  sense  on  man's 
part  —  this  consciousness  of  a  worse  in  himself  co- 
existing and  conflicting  with  a  better." 

"  Mr.  Seaton  and  I,"  said  Glanville,  "  sometimes 
quarrel  furiously.  We  shall  have  to  quarrel  again 
—  most  likely  to-night :  but  here  we  seem  to  be  in 
agreement.  The  myth  of  the  Fall,  and  the  doctrines 
of  the  Incarnation  and  the  Real  Presence  are,  if  we 
decline  to  accept  them  as  revelations  of  supernatural 
occurrences,  explicable  only  as  symbols  of  natural 
facts ;  and  these  are  man's  sense  of  a  discord  in  his 
own  nature  which  renders  him  dissatisfied  with  him- 
self, his  irrepressible  demand  that  this  discord  should 
be  healed,  and  his  instinctive  belief  that  the  healing 
of  it  is  in  some  way  possible.  If  it  were  not  for  the 
facts  of  our  common  human  nature,  the  Incarnation 
would  have  been  meaningless  for  us  as  an  event.  If 
it  were  not  for  these  facts,  it  would  have  been  both 
meaningless  and  impossible  as  a  belief.  Unless  man 
were  an  eating  animal  the  present  of  a  loaf  would 
mean  nothing  to  him;  and  if  no  loaf  were  offered 
to  him,  he  would  never  invent  one  in  his  dreams.  In 
the  same  way  God  the  Father,  with  whom  Christ  was 
identified,  and  to  whom  he  was  supposed  to  guide  us, 


216        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

is  the  symbol  —  or  if  we  like  to  call  it  so,  an  expres- 
sion in  intellectual  terms  —  firstly  of  what  man  con- 
ceives the  supreme  Good  to  be ;  and  secondly  of  his 
sense  that  this  Good  is  somehow  so  far  connected  with 
himself,  as  to  make  some  conscious  response  to  his 
own  personal  desire  for  it." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon.  "  I  follow  you  so 
far  now." 

"  And,"  continued  Glanville,  "  to  show  you  that  I 
am  not  misleading  you,  I  will  call  in  one  of  the  great- 
est of  the  Christian  philosophers  to  support  me. 
i  The  misery  of  man/  he  says,  '  proves  his  greatness. 
He  is  miserable ;  but  he  is  great  in  knowing  it.  To 
know  God  without  knowing  one's  own  misery  is  the 
barren  pride  of  the  philosopher.  To  know  one's  own 
misery  without  knowing  the  Redeemer  is  the  despair 
of  the  atheist.  Both  kinds  of  knowledge  are  neces- 
sary for  the  human  soul ;  and  the  Christian  religion 
consists  essentially  in  uniting  them.'  Such  accord- 
ing to  Pascal  is  the  human  kernal  of  Christianity  — 
the  human  soil  in  which  the  divine  message  germi- 
nates ;  and  according  to  us  the  soil  in  which  it  origi- 
nates." 

"  Ah,"  said  Mr.  Brompton,  with  the  air  of  a  mu- 
sician who  heard  a  discord,  "  is  it  quite,  quite  imper- 
missible for  me  to  protest  once  more  against  this  con- 
stant dwelling  on  misery  —  sin  —  misery?  The 
sense  of  this  —  Mr.  Glanville  —  is  not  universal. 
Not  even  in  the  past  has  it  been  the  root  of  all  re- 
ligions. Hereafter  it  will  be  the  root  of  none.  To 
look  at  natural  religion  through  Christianity  is  to 
look  at  the  sun  through  smoked  spectacles." 


A   Night's   Waking  217 

"  I  will,"  said  Glanville,  "  give  the  sense  of  sin, 
and  the  desire  for  reconciliation,  other  names  pres- 
ently, to  which  you  will  take  no  exception.  Let  me 
finish  what  I  want  to  say  about  sin  and  misery  first. 
You  suggest  the  sense  of  them  is  a  kind  of  parochial 
disease,  confined  to  the  Christianized  peoples,  and 
spread  and  perpetuated  by  a  sort  of  mental  contagion. 
The  Churches,  you  seem  to  think,  are  hospitals  which 
swarm  with  the  germs  of  it,  and  breed  what  they 
were  built  to  cure." 

"  You  could  n't,"  said  Mr.  Brompton,  "  have  put 
the  views  of  our  new  Church  better." 

"  Well,"  said  Glanville,  "  if  you  won't  think  me 
wearisome,  let  me  give,  for  your  more  minute  repre- 
hension, a  few  detailed  examples  of  this  disease, 
which,  according  to  you,  Christian  priests  propagate, 
in  order  that  they  may  live  by  doctoring  it.  Here  is 
an  old  story  of  a  monk,  who  before  he  took  his  vows 
had  enjoyed  great  riches,  and  had  married,  and  had 
had  a  son.  When  the  son  was  approaching  man- 
hood, he  was  told  wno  his  father  was.  '  Your  father/ 
it  was  said  to  him,  '  is  a  very  rich  man  still.  He 
owns  four  gold-mines.  Go  to  him ;  claim  them :  and 
he  will  give  them  to  you.'  And  the  son  claimed  them 
of  his  father ;  and  the  monk  said,  *  They  shall  be 
yours:  and  in  each  mine  you  shall  find  a  different 
kind  of  gold.  My  son,  the  gold  of  the  first  is  to  know 
thine  own  soul's  misery.  The  gold  of  the  second  is  to 
rid  thyself  of  the  lusts  and  the  hates  of  the  body. 
The  gold  of  the  third  is  to  love  all  living  things :  and 
the  gold  of  the  fourth  is  the  death  of  thy  whole  self, 
which  is  life.'  " 

"  Beautiful "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Vernon  half  aloud. 


218        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

Miss  Leighton  watched  Glanville  with  grave  expec- 
tant eyes.  Mr.  Brompton  twisted  himself  in  his 
chair.  "  The  writers  of  the  Acta  Sanctomm"  he 
muttered,  "  were  cunning  in  their  own  business. 
They  knew  a  literary  trick  or  two." 

"  And  here/'  resumed  Glanville,  "  are  some  verses, 
which  I  copied  out  this  morning,  not  from  the  peni- 
tential Psalms,  but  from  another  book  of  devotion, 
which  precisely  resembles  them  in  what  Mr.  Bromp- 
ton would  call  their  morbid  spirit,  and  which,  I  we 
no  doubt  he  would  say,  reproduces  it  but  too  success- 
fully. '  Oh  God,  my  transgressions  are  many :  my 
sins  are  a  great  multitude.  In  the  anger  of  His 
heart  the  Lord  has  cast  me  down :  in  the  strength  of 
His  heart  my  God  has  become  mine  enemy.  May 
the  Lord,  may  He  who  has  made  me,  take  me  by  the 
hand.  May  He  guide  the  breath  of  my  mouth,  and 
order  what  my  hand  doeth." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Brompton.  "  There's  Pas- 
cal's cenception  of  human  nature  to  a  T.  A  terrible 
responsibility  rests  on  these  Christian  Churches  — 
terrible  —  terrible.  They  have  not  only  befooled  the 
world  with  their  supernatural  fables  —  these  we  can 
blow  away  like  fluff  —  but  they  have  corrupted  the 
feelings  and  impulses  of  the  human  mind  itself,  from 
which  —  as  you  say  very  truly,  Mr.  Glanville  —  here 
I  'm  quite  with  you  —  natural  religion  springs. 
They  have  turned  the  religious  impulse  from  a 
healthy  appetite  into  a  pathological  craving." 

"  What  I  want  to  show  everybody  here,"  said  Glan- 
ville, "  is  that  Mr.  Brompton  is  a  little  too  hard  on 
the  Churches.  He  recognizes  Pascal's  spirit  in  the 
story  of  the  monk  and  the  four  mines,  and  in  that 


A    Night's    Waking  219 

short  psalm-like  fragment  which  seems  to  be  an  echo 
of  David :  but  they  both  come  from  sources  of  which 
Pascal  knew  nothing,  and  from  men  who  knew  noth- 
ing of  him,  his  Church,  or  any  book  of  the  Bible. 
My  monk  was  no  hero  of  the  Acta  Sanctorum.  He 
was  Gautama.  He  preceded  all  the  Churches  by  four 
hundred  years ;  and  his  witness  comes  to  us  not  from 
Jordan  but  from  the  Ganges.  And  as  to  my  peni- 
tential Psalm  —  the  writer  of  it  wept  his  tears  beside 
the  waters  of  Babylon,  not  only  before  a  Jew  had 
ever  hung  up  his  harp  there ;  but  ages  before  Abra- 
ham was  preparing  to  chop  Isaac  in  pieces.  So  you 
see,  Mr.  Brompton,  this  sense  of  sin  and  misery  is 
very  much  wider  and  more  normal  than  you  seemed 
willing  to  allow." 

"  Mr.  Glanville,"  said  Mr.  Brompton,  "  you  're  a 
clever  tactician  in  argument :  and  you  think  you  've 
got  me  in  a  corner.  But  you  have  n't.  Let  the 
sense  of  sin  be  as  natural  and  wide-spread  as  you  like. 
What  of  it?  I  say,  what  of  it?  Look  here,  Mr. 
Glanville,  the  pre-historic  races,  of  whom  you  showed 
us  a  vision  in  your  orangery,  suffered  from  a  fear  of 
wild  beasts.  To  this  in  time  was  added  the  fear  of 
malignant  spirits.  We  have  grown  out  of  these 
fears,  though  to  do  so  was  the  work  of  millenniums. 
In  the  same  way  we  shall  grow  —  ay,  we  are  fast 
growing  now  —  out  of  this  paralyzing  sense  of  sin. 
The  truth  is  setting  us  free  in  a  sense  deeper  than  the 
priest's  sense.  That 's  our  view  —  the  view  of  the 
new  Church;  but  let  me  say  something  more.  We 
do  n't  deny  that  this  pain,  this  dissatisfaction,  which 
calls  itself  the  sense  of  sin,  has  a  natural  origin  in  the 
constitution  of  the  human  being.      The  pain  is  here, 


220        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

there,  everywhere  —  by  the  Ganges,  the  Euphrates, 
and  the  Thames.  What  we  do  say  is  that,  in  conceiv- 
ing of  it  as  a  sense  of  sin,  men  have  misread  its  na- 
ture. In  reality;  it  's  a  composite  sense,  partly 
biological  in  its  origin,  partly  sociological.  Biologic- 
ally speaking  it 's  a  sense  of  imperfect  adjustment, 
like  a  sense  of  sickness,  or  of  liability  to  it :  sociologi- 
cally speaking,  it  is  a  sense  of  the  supreme  truth 
that  the  individual,  in  isolation  from,  or  in  antagon- 
ism to  his  kind,  is  a  miserable  stunted  creature,  with 
all  his  energies  wasted,  all  his  sympathies  stifled ;  and 
that  he  can  only  reach  his  full  development  —  the 
glorious  development  he  's  capable  of  —  by  fusing 
himself,  in  his  acts  and  thoughts,  with  the  race  of 
which  he  forms  a  part.  There  's  a  simple,  scientific, 
natural  religion  for  you,  if  you  like.  I  can  't  do  it 
justice  now.  '  You  've  promised  me  an  opportunity 
of  doing  that  later.  I  only  want  to  show  you  this  — 
that  we  start  with  the  same  facts  as  you  —  with  im- 
perfection, isolation,  weakness,  dissatisfaction;  and 
our  religion  is  a  religion  for  the  same  reason  that 
Christianity  is.  It 's  a  religion  because  it  appeals  to 
our  sense  of  those  evils,  and  offers  us  all  a  cure  for 
them  —  this  being  the  union  of  the  individual  by 
social  action  and  feeling,  with  a  race  which  is  con- 
gruous to  himself,  but  infinitely  larger  and  more  en- 
during." 

"  That's  better  put,"  whispered  Lady  Snowdon, 
"  than  I  should  have  expected.  But  why  will  he  ges- 
ticulate and  make  eyes  like  an  actor  1 " 

"  Mr.  Brompton,"  said  Glanville,  "  I  thank  you. 
For  the  present  our  disagreements  are  over.  I  dwelt 
on  man's  sense  of  sin,  and  his  belief  that  the  pain  of 


A    Night's    Waking  221 

it  can  be  remedied,  as  the  natural  root  and  essence 
of  all  civilized  religion,  merely  because  what  Pascal 
and  Buddha  both  call  man's  misery,  has  been  inter- 
preted as  a  sense  of  sin  by  all  the  great  religions  of  the 
past :  and  I  dwelt  upon  the  elaborate  doctrines  of  the 
Christian  religion  in  particular,  because,  for  us,  who 
are  so  familiar  with  them,  they  are  like  an  enormous 
picture  thrown  on  the  clouds  by  a  magic  lantern  from 
a  slide  which  is  the  human  heart.  Your  own  religion, 
however  signal  its  merits,  is  too  new  to  afford  us  any 
such  illustration  as  this :  but  the  definition  of  religion 
to  which  I  am  trying  to  lead  you  all  will  include  Mr. 
Brompton's,  no  less  than  Pascal's.  Mr.  Brompton 
agrees  with  Pascal,  and  with  all  the  civilized  world, 
that  what  we  may  call  a  certain  spiritual  distress  is 
indigenous  in  the  heart  of  man ;  and  whether  he  is  dis- 
tressed because  he  thinks  himself  sinful,  or  personal 
pleasure  unsatisfying,  or  the  drama  of  life  petty, 
makes  no  matter  to  us  now.  In  each  case  he  is  smart- 
ing under  a  Worse,  and  conceives  and  desires  a  Better. 
That 's  the  vital  point :  and  the  vital  meaning  of  the 
word  Keligion  for  all  of  us,  is  a  remedy  which  the 
mind  applies  to  itself  for  this  state  of  things:  and 
in  every  religion  the  nature  of  the  promised  remedy 
is  the  same.  It  is  an  expansion  of  the  Better  ele- 
ment in  individual  life  into  something  which  is 
greater  than  itself,  but  which  is,  at  the  same  time 
congruous  to  it  —  something  the  greatness  of  which 
will  enlarge  our  littleness,  the  goodness  of  which  will 
appease  our  longing,  and  the  permanence  of  which 
will  bring  us  rest.  You  do  n't,  Mr.  Brompton,  quar- 
rel with  that  definition,  do  you  ?  " 


222        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Mr.  Brompton,  "  I  accept 
it  as  full  and  admirable." 

"  Well,"  said  Glanville,  looking  round  him,  "  and 
what  about  all  you  others  ?  Does  n't  this  cover  the 
inmost  meaning  of  Christianity  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  it  does,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon.  "  But 
Christianity  means  more." 

"  It  no  doubt  does,"  said  Glanville,  "  like  all  other 
religions.  The  point  here  is  that  it  does  mean  this 
at  all  events :  and  neither  it,  nor  any  other  religion, 
can  possibly  mean  less.  Before  we  begin  our  tea,  let 
me  give  you  one  final  illustration.  Look  at  that 
altar.  Men  have  knelt  at  it,  transubstantiating  by 
the  alchemy  of  their  own  souls,  the  wafer  into  bread 
from  heaven,  which  was  also  a  bread  of  sorrow.  For 
them  this  act  of  union  with  the  supreme  Good,  was 
accomplished  through  tears  and  a  mortification  of  all 
the  senses.  The  Good  was  accessible  only  as  a  God 
worn  and  wasted,  to  whose  sorrow  no  sorrow  was 
like,  and  in  whom  was  no  beauty  to  be  desired.  And 
now  —  turn  from  the  altar  —  look  through  the  west- 
ern door.  There  is  the  hyacinth  of  the  sea  which 
was  made  flesh  in  the  body  of  Aphrodite  —  there  are 
the  dancing-places  of  Aurora  —  there  is  the  innumer- 
able laughter  which  the  eyes  of  Prometheus  looked 
upon.  There  is  a  beauty  to  which  the  spirit  of  man 
longs  to  go  out  as  though  on  a  sea-gull's  wings.  Or 
let  me  say,  if  you  do  n't  like  Aphrodite,  that  this  other 
Eternal  Word  was  made  flesh  in  Apollo  also  — 
Apollo  with  his  gloomless  eyes  —  What  a  contrast  to 
the  suffering  Christ  l  And  yet  no  one  can  say  that  the 
contrast  is  one  between  degradation  and  elevation. 
It  is  a  contrast  between  one  form  of  elevation  and 


A    Night's   Waking  223 

another.  Apollo  too  was  the  object  of  a  religion; 
and  his  religion  was  so  far  like  that  of  Christ  that  it 
consisted  in  the  union  of  the  individual  life  with 
something  larger,  more  beautiful,  more  harmonious, 
more  enduring  than  itself.  In  both  religions  there  is 
the  same  launching  forth  of  the  soul,  and  in  both  the 
same  belief  that  it  will  be  received  by  the  everlasting 
arms.  Keligion  in  all  its  forms  resolves  itself  into 
this  —  the  desire  of  man,  imperfect  and  dissatisfied 
with  himself,  for  something  Greater,  and  a  belief 
that  he  can,  by  some  management  of  his  conduct  and 
his  feelings,  induce  this  Greater  to  reciprocate  and 
reward  his  advances.  Well  —  as  nobody  seems  in- 
clined to  dispute  this,  our  idea  of  natural  religion  is, 
I  think,  sufficiently  clear  for  the  purpose  of  our  dis- 
cussion to-night ;  and  if  other  people  agree  with  me, 
I  propose  that  we  turn  to  tea,  and  that  our  chairman 
should  declare  our  first  lesson  for  the  day  to  be  ended. 
And  now,  Mrs.  Vernon,  suppose  we  boil  our  tea-ket- 
tle. The  bottle  of  methylated  spirit  is  in  that  little 
basket  close  to  you," 


CHAPTER    II 

*  *  ^T^^  we  are  com^nS  to  tne  Period  that  is  really 
i-^l      interesting.     This  is  the  very  night  —  this 

is  the  very  place  —  for  our  discussion  of  it." 

The  words  were  Lord  Restormel's  and  they  were 
charged  with  a  certain  emotion,  which  was  perhaps 
not  unconnected  with  the  magnetic  neighborhood  of 
Miss  Leighton,  the  edge  of  whose  white  dress  touched 
one  of  his  boots  like  foam. 

The  warmth  of  the  night  was  such  that,  instead  of 
sitting  in  the  portico,  the  party  had  betaken  them- 
selves after  dinner  to  a  certain  projection  of  the  ter- 
race, where  the  air  was  freshened  by  the  sea  splashing 
directly  under  it.  The  brilliance  of  the  moon  was 
dazzling.  The  plunge  of  the  breakers  showered  it  on 
the  darkness  of  the  grating  shingle :  and  it  flashed  in 
the  middle  of  Lord  Kestormel's  shirt-front  from  an 
Indian  gem  too  striking  almost  for  the  taste  even  of 
Sir  Roderick  Harborough. 

Lord  Restormers  words  were  followed  by  an  ex- 
clamation from  Mr.  Hancock,  the  tone  of  which  was 
singularly  different.  "  How  nasty !  "  he  said  "  how 
extremely  nasty !  I  seem  to  have  spilt  some  soup  — 
I  think  —  on  my  white  waistcoat.  I  must  go  in  and 
change  it.  Do  n't  let  me  keep  you  all  waiting.  My 
dear  Lord  Restormel,  it 's  the  very  night  for  you  to 
be  chairman.  You  know  the  order  of  our  proceed- 
ings. Take  my  place,  I  beg  you,  at  all  events  till  I 
come  back." 

224 


A   Night's   Waking  225 

For  a  moment  Lord  Restormel  was  doubtful.  He 
was  halting  between  two  desires.  The  one  was  to 
make  intermittent  love  to  Miss  Leighton ;  the  other 
was  to  exhibit  to  her  another  side  of  his  nature,  which 
also  had  been  vaguely  stimulated  by  the  mystery  of 
her  dark  eyes.  The  latter  desire  —  as  genuine  as  its 
rival  —  conquered. 

"  All  right,"  he  said.  "  If  everyone  is  willing  I  '11 
begin.  We  have  been  talking  this  afternoon  of 
Christianity,  with  its  familiar  and  exclusive  theology, 
whose  longest  tentacles  can  grasp  but  a  few  thousand 
years  of  time,  a  fraction  of  the  human  family,  a 
microscopic  portion  of  space.  I  am  at  this  moment," 
he  said,  turning  for  a  moment  to  Miss  Leighton, 
"  comparing  in  my  own  mind  religion  made  thus  fa- 
miliar to  us,  to  a  fire-lit  cottage  at  night,  enclosing  a 
sailor's  child.  The  blinds  are  down;  the  darkness 
is  shut  out;  the  flickerings  of  the  hearth  give  a 
friendliness  even  to  the  shadows  in  the  farthest  cor- 
ner. The  child  sees  everything  intelligibly  adjusted 
to  its  needs.  If  it  is  hungry,  there  is  food  for  it  in 
the  great  mysterious  cupboard ;  and  as  soon  as  it  is 
tired,  it  knows  that  there  is  a  room  above,  where  a 
pillow  of  rest  awaits  it,  when  it  has  clambered  up  a 
narrow  stair.  We  are  like  such  a  child  who,  having 
taken  its  cottage  for  the  world,  suddenly  opens  the 
door,  and  finds  itself  in  a  night  like  this,  confronted 
by  all  the  stars,  and  by  all  the  thunderings  of  the 
sea.  Will  these  reproduce  for  us  the  order  which 
we  found  indoors  ?  Will  these  realities  of  the  Uni- 
verse provide  us  with  a  new  home  which,  compared 
with  the  cottage  of  Christian  miracle,  will  be  a  pal- 
ace ?     Or  will  they  leave  us  roofless  —  with  no  home 


226        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

at  all  ?  That 's  our  question,  Rupert,  in  general 
terms,  is  n't  it  ?  Our  friend  Mr.  Hancock  would, 
no  doubt,  have  put  it  in  a  more  business-like  way." 

"  You  put  it,"  murmured  Miss  Leighton,  "  far  bet- 
ter than  he  could." 

"  And  now,"  Lord  Restormel  continued,  "  let  us 
come  down  to  details.  ]STow  for  the  manner  in  which 
our  question  may  best  be  dealt  with.  In  defining 
religion  this  afternoon,  we  very  rightly  reduced  it  to 
a  sense  of,  and  a  belief  in,  a  Something  greater  than 
man's  soul,  but  yet,  as  we  said,  so  far  akin  to  it,  that, 
on  certain  terms,  it  and  the  soul  can  be  united.  But 
when  we  consider  more  narrowly  the  religion  which 
we  have  defined  thus,  we  see  that  this  Greater  Some- 
thing may  be  conceived  of  in  two  different  ways.  By 
most  minds  it  is  identified  with  a  personal,  or  quasi- 
personal  principle,  which  pervades  the  entire  Uni- 
verse. When  conceived  of  thus  it  is  generally  called 
God  —  a  name  which  even  Buddhists  might  give  it ; 
though,  so  far  as  I  know,  they  do  n't.  You  '11  admit, 
Mr.  Brompton,  that  God,  in  this  comprehensive  sense, 
is  supposed  to  be  the  object  of  all  religions,  by  most 
people,  from  Spinoza  down  to  the  Pope." 

"  At  present,"  said  Mr.  Brompton.  "  Yes.  That 's 
the  idea  of  religion  which  unfortunately  still  pre- 
vails amongst  the  majority." 

"  Well,"  continued  Lord  Restormel,  "  Mr.  Bromp- 
ton and  his  friends  conceive  of  the  Greater  Some- 
thing, in  a  new  way,  and  in  one  quite  different  from 
this:  and  in  due  time  Mr.  Brompton  will  —  so  we 
hope  —  expound  to  us  his  own  gospel:  but  we  are 
going  to  ask  him  for  the  moment  to  hold  his  own 
ideas  in  reserve,  and  join  with  us  first  in  considering 


A   Night's   Waking  227 

natural  religion  under  its  commonest  form,  which  is 
that  of  a  Theism  or  a  moral  Pantheism  —  it  'a  diffi- 
cult to  distinguish  very  sharply  between  them  —  and 
in  asking  how  far  such  a  natural  religion  as  this,  is 
supported  by,  or  consistent  with,  the  actual  facts  of 
Nature." 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Mr.  Brompton,  "  by  all 
means.  Nothing  could  suit  my  book  better.  You 
will  by  your  enquiry  be  preparing  my  way  before 
me." 

"  That 's  right  —  capital !  "  The  encouraging 
words  were  Mr.  Hancock's,  who,  resplendent  in  a 
clean  waistcoat,  had  returned,  and  was  listening  in 
the  background.  "  What,  Lord  Kestormel,"  he  con- 
tinued, "you'd  rather  I  took  your  place?  Keally 
now?  Then  I  can't  refuse.  Yes  —  yes  —  let  us 
tackle  the  old  Theism  first ;  and  if  that  won  't  wash, 
and  if  we  find  that  we  want  something  of  the  sort, 
we  '11  come  to  Mr.  Brompton's  substitute,  and  see  if 
it  will  do  better.  Well,  Mr.  Glanville,  our  ears  are  at 
your  service." 

"I  think,"  said  Glanville,  "  I  shall  begin  our  dis- 
cussion best,  by  striking  a  match,  and  reading  you  a 
short  extract  which  I  have  made  from  the  writings 
of  one  of  our  most  fervent  modern  theists,  who  sees 
in  natural  theism  the  assured  successor  of  Christ- 
ianity. '  What  I  conceive,'  this  writer  says,  '  to  be 
the  vital  difference  between  Theism  and  Christianity 
is  that,  as  an  explanation  of  things,  theism  can  never 
be  disproved.  The  man  of  science  may  not  adopt  it ; 
but  by  no  advance  of  science  that  I,  at  any  rate  can 
foresee,  can  it  be  driven  out  of  the  field.  Christian- 
ity is  in  a  totally  different  position.     Its  grounds  are 


228        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

not  philosophical,  but  literary  and  historical.  Hence 
the  Christian  explanation  is  vulnerable  in  a  way  in 
which  the  Theistic  explanation  can  never  be  vulner- 
able.' Well,"  Glanville  continued,  "what  we  are 
about  to  see  is  this  —  that  any  one  who  holds  the 
opinion  expressed  in  what  I  have  just  read,  is  living 
in  a  fool's  paradise.  We  shall  see  that  every  doc- 
trine, and  every  hope,  which  makes  Theism  a  real 
religion  —  and  in  virtue  of  which  Theism  has,  as  we 
saw  this  afternoon,  been  the  vital  element  of  the  great 
moral  mythologies  —  is  just  as  vulnerable  by  science, 
if  we  grasp  what  science  means,  as  the  most  impos- 
sible doctrines  of  these  mythologies  themselves.  The 
idea  uppermost  in  the  mind  of  the  writer  I  have  just 
quoted  was  no  doubt  this  —  that  science  can  never, 
in  any  formal  way,  prove  that  the  Power  which  has 
made  or  pervades  the  Universe,  is  not  personal  or 
quasi-personal,  in  some  sense  of  these  words.  Now 
to  this  sort  of  argument  it  would  be  very  easy  to 
answer  that  there  are  many  things  which  no  one  be- 
lieves, though  no  one  can  formally  disprove  them." 

"  We  can  't  disprove,"  said  Mr.  Brompton,  "  the 
existence  of  a  bottle  in  Mars,  with  blood  in  it  which 
liquifies  like  the  blood  of  St.  Janarius." 

"  But  there  's  no  need,"  resumed  Glanville,  "  to 
fall  back  on  this  retort:  for  if  Theism  were  nothing 
but  the  attribution  of  a  vague  personality  to  the 
Power  behind  the  Universe,  we  might  call  it  a  con- 
jectural philosophy,  but  it  would  n't  be  a  religion  at 
all.  It  would  certainly  not  be  what  this  ardent 
writer  means  by  religion.  In  order  to  make  a  re- 
ligion of  it,  two  things  are  necessary.  One  is  that  we 
attribute  to  our  Power,  not  merely  a  bare  Person- 


A   Night's    Waking  229 

ality,  but  a  Personality  which  is,  in  some  human 
sense,  good.  The  other  is  that  we  supplement  our 
conception  of  this  good  Power  with  a  conception  of 
the  human  soul  as  something  essentially  kindred  to 
it.  Theism  is  essentially  an  affair  of  spiritual  give 
and  take ;  and  the  human  party  no  less  than  the  divine 
must  be  duly  qualified  for  its  own  role  in  the  trans- 
action. You  see  thus  that  Theism  has  two  main  doc- 
trines, like  the  two  piers  of  a  bridge,  one  of  them  be- 
ing a  piece  of  definite  natural  theology,  the  other  a 
piece  of  what  we  may  call  spiritual  anthropology. 
Here  we  come  to  the  point  which  the  writer  whom  I 
have  just  quoted  misses.  Both  these  doctrines,  con- 
trary to  what  this  writer  says,  are  just  as  accessible 
to  science  —  are  just  as  directly  susceptible  of  mi- 
nute and  dispassionate  investigation  —  as  any  his- 
torical question  connected  with  Christian  evidences. 
We  shall  easily  see  how.  The  case  of  the  first  is 
simplest  —  the  theistic  doctrine  of  God :  so  I  propose 
that  we  begin  with  that.  Lord  Eestormel  said  just 
now  that  this  was  the  very  place,  the  very  night,  for 
such  an  enquiry.  So  it  is.  The  order,  the  beauty, 
and  the  sublime  immensity  of  the  Universe  could  not 
exhibit  themselves  to  us  more  impressively  than  they 
are  doing  now.  Science  and  Theism  both  alike  tell 
us  that  this  incalculable  Whole,  is  the  work  or  the 
self -manifestation  of  one  single  Power  of  Principle. 
Theism  adds  that  this  Whole,  throughout  all  its  parts 
and  processes,  is  the  self -manifestation  of  a  power  or 
principle  which  is  good." 

"  If  I,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  may  be  allowed  to 
intrude  with  a  remark,  I  should  like  to  quote  an  ob- 
servation which  Mill  often  made  to  my  father.     He 


230        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

said  that  to  talk  of  the  goodness  or  even  of  the  wis- 
dom of  God,  as  being  manifested  by  the  Universe  as 
a  whole,  was  to  talk  nonsense:  because  Goodness 
means  nothing  if  not  referable  to  sentient  things,  and 
wisdom  means  nothing  if  not  referable  to  some  known 
end.  Therefore,  Mill  said,  Nature  could  exhibit 
God's  goodness  only  in  so  far  as  it  was  the  vehicle  of 
his  dealings  with  ourselves,  and  perhaps  with  the  ani- 
mals ;  nor  could  it  show  His  wisdom  either,  in  any 
other  way ;  for  except  in  so  far  as  Nature  ministers 
to  sentient  life  we  are  unable  to  conceive  any  end  for 
which  it  should  exist  at  all:  and  are  consequently  un- 
able to  tell  whether  it  is  wisely  contrived  or  no.  But 
my  dear  Mr.  Glanville,  go  on.  I  beg  your  pardon 
for  interrupting  you." 

"  You  have,"  said  Glanville,  interrupted  me  only 
by  anticipating  me.  You  have  shown  more  trench- 
antly perhaps  than  I  should  have  done  myself  that 
the  quintessence  of  Theism  is  the  doctrine  that  the 
Power  behind  the  Universe  is  infinitely  good  to  man ; 
and  that  its  goodness,  however  diffused  through  the 
entire  frame  of  Nature,  is  for  us  concentrated  in,  and 
is  known  by  us  only  through,  those  natural  facts  and 
processes  which  directly  affect  ourselves.  Well  — 
for  the  Theist's  view  there 's  a  great  deal  to  be  said. 
The  argument  from  apparent  design,  as  applied  to 
our  own  bodies,  and  the  way  in  which  Nature  minis- 
ters to  them,  is  an  argument  which  even  a  child  can 
understand.  So  too  is  the  argument  from  our  sense 
of  right  and  wrong.  A  Power  which  gave  us  this 
must  necessarily  be  good  itself.  Starting  with  these 
presumptions  which  originate  in  the  ways  I  have 
mentioned,  we  impute  a  moral  character  to  the  Uni- 


A    Night's   Waking  231 

verse  taken  as  a  whole :  and  I  'm  bound  to  say  that 
when  we  look  on  such  a  sky  as  this,  it 's  difficult  not  to 
believe  that  the  Theist's  view  is  right.  The  other 
day,  when  I  was  alone  in  the  launch  with  Mr.  Seaton, 
I  was  talking  about  this  very  question.  I  was  talk- 
ing of  the  curious  longing  for  something  beyond 
ourselves,  that  is  roused  in  us  so  often  by  the  color- 
ing of  the  sea  and  sky;  and  he  had  just  begun  to 
give  me  his  own  philosophy  of  the  matter,  when  some- 
thing stopped  him.  I  wish  he  would  say  now  what 
he  was  going  to  say  then." 

"  Do  Mr.  Seaton,"  said  Lady  Snowdon.  "  Do." 
Lady  Snowdon,  who,  from  the  first  had  been  pleased 
by  Seaton' s  appearance,  had  lately  discussed  some 
satisfactory  details  about  his  family ;  and  was  quite 
prepared  now  to  give  him  her  most  protecting  at- 
tention. 

"  I  had  meant,"  said  Seaton,  "  to  have  kept  my 
contribution  to  our  debate  till  we  came  to  consider 
the  matter  and  the  mind  of  man.  But  I  certainly, 
if  people  wish  it,  will  do  what  Mr.  Glanville  sug- 
gests, if  he  merely  means  that  I  should  finish  what 
I  was  saying  on  the  occasion  referred  to.  I  was  go- 
ing to  quote  to  him  —  which  is  all  that  I  will 
do  now  —  two  expressions  of  this  feeling  with  regard 
to  Nature,  which,  with  special  clearness,  show  us 
what  its  content  is.  One  is  taken  from  Wordsworth : 
the  other  from  Thoreau,  the  sylvan  hermit  of 
America.  Thoreau  tells  us  that  in  the  loneliness  of 
his  dwelling  among  the  woods,  all  the  sights  and 
sounds  surrounding  him  —  even  the  rain-drops 
pattering  amongst  the  leaves,  and  the  pine-needles 
lying  at  his  feet,  made  him  distinctly  aware  of  the 


232        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

presence  of  a  life  kindred  to  Lis  own  —  made  him 
recognize  Nature  as  his  sweet  and  beneficent  com- 
panion —  a  companion  so  living  and  intimate  that 
he  could  never  be  alone  anywhere.  As  to  Words- 
worth, I  had  intended  to  quote  this  — 

What  mind  was  his,  when  from  the  naked  top 
Of  some  bold  headland  he  beheld  the  sun 
Rise  up  and  bathe  the  world  with  light     .     .     . 
The  clouds  were  touched, 
And  in  their  silent  faces  did  he  read 
Unutterable  love. 

I  need  n't  quote  more.  Both  passages,  though  of 
course  the  last  one  especially,  show  what  the  faith, 
the  spirit,  and  the  scope  of  natural  Theism  is." 

"  Thank  you,  Alistair,"  said  Glanville,  "  my  sym- 
pathies are  entirely  with  you.  But  my  business  now 
is  not  to  express  my  sympathies,  but  to  speak  as  one 
of  those  whom  the  spirit  of  science  has  girded,  and 
carried  perhaps  whither  they  would  not.  What  I 
shall  have  to  say  then  about  natural  Theism  is  this  — 
that  it  no  sooner  escapes  from  the  cottage  of  Christian 
Miracle,  than  it  builds  for  itself,  and  can  only  live  in 
it,  a  cottage  of  the  sentimental  imagination,  which, 
though  more  extensive  than  the  other,  is  knocked 
down  just  as  easily  by  a  touch  of  scientific  fact.  I  '11 
put  my  meaning  in  a  popular  form  first:  and  Mr. 
Seaton  has  suplied  me  himself  with  the  materials  for 
doing  this.  Let  us  take  the  case  of  these  two  men, 
Wordsworth  and  Thoreau,  one  of  whom  sees  unutter- 
able love  in  the  clouds,  whilst  the  other  finds  the  for- 
est his  kindly  and  divine  companion.  Now  just  let 
us  suppose  for  a  moment  that  Thoreau  and  Words- 


A    Night's    Waking  233 

worth  were  our  contemporaries,  and  that  they  were 
writing  these  passages  which  Mr.  Seaton  has  com- 
mended to  our  notice,  on  the  same  day,  two  or  three 
years  ago.  Let  us  suppose  also  that  Thoreau,  in  his 
Massachusetts  wood,  and  Wordsworth  on  the  naked 
top  of  his  bold  English  headland,  had  each  possessed 
a  telescope,  which  would  show  them  clearly  what  was 
going  on  in  the  West  Indies.  If  they  could  have 
stolen  a  moment  from  the  unutterable  love  of  the 
Westmoreland  clouds,  and  the  Massachusetts  rain- 
drops and  pine-needles,  they  might  through  their  tele- 
scope have  seen  other  clouds,  and  another  kind  of  rain- 
clouds  which  stifled,  and  rain  which  was  red  hot  — 
asphyxiating,  torturing,  murdering,  without  dis- 
crimination or  pity,  the  entire  population  of  a  West 
Indian  island.  Think,  then,  in  the  presence  of  such 
facts  as  these  what  nonsense  becomes  the  maundering 
of  our  two  devout  gentlemen  about  the  sympathy  and 
the  unutterable  love  of  the  Power  behind  Nature.  If 
the  Power  is,  as  Wordsworth  believed  it  to  be,  the 
omnipotent  and  omnipresent  God,  the  revelation  of 
his  character  by  means  of  natural  phenomena  can  't 
be  confined  to  sunrises  in  the  north  of  England,  or 
the  forest  scenery  of  one  State  in  America.  If  the 
prettiness  of  his  sunrises  and  his  forests  gives  us 
grounds  for  thinking  him  good,  the  West  Indian 
catastrophe  gives  us  grounds  of  a  very  much  stronger 
kind  for  thinking  of  him  either  as  an  awkward  fool, 
or  a  monster.  My  dear  Mrs.  Vernon,  you  need  n't 
look  so  shocked.  Suppose  that,  when  you  were  visit- 
ing amongst  the  poor,  your  esteem  had  been  won  by  a 
woman  who,  whenever  you  called,  was  nursing  one 
of  her  children,  and  brooding  over  it  with  extreme 


234        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

affection;  and  that  subsequently,  one  fine  day,  you 
discovered  that  she  had  six  others ;  and  that  she  had 
bored  the  stomach  of  three  of  them  with  a  red  hot 
poker,  and  was  preparing  to  roast  the  remaining 
three  by  the  fire  in  the  back  kitchen.  Would  you 
still  look  on  your  protege,  as  the  ideally  wise,  the 
ideally  loving  mother  \  " 

"  I  should  look  on  her,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon  rather 
tartly,  "  as  a  horrible  criminal  lunatic;  and  I  should 
say  that  her  affection  for  one  child  did  but  add  to  the 
ghastliness  of  her  mad  cruelty  to  the  rest." 

"  Precisely,"  said  Glanville,  "  and  when  natural 
Theism  —  the  creed  which  differs  from  Christianity, 
because  nothing  can  ever  disprove  it  —  insists  on  in- 
vest in 2:  the  Universe  with  a  moral  character  of  some 
kind,  science  shows  that  this  character  is  such  a  mix- 
ture of  what  is  good  and  detestable,  that  it  can  only 
be  the  character  of  a  criminal  lunatic  likewise.  If 
you  answer  that  the  existence  of  such  a  cosmic  mon- 
strosity is  incredible,  I  altogether  agree  with  you: 
but  we  can,  so  far  scientific  observation  guides  us, 
only  escape  from  supposing  that  such  a  monstrosity 
exists,  by  refusing  to  attribute  to  the  Universe  any 
moral  character  at  all." 

The  light  of  theological  acrimony  was  shining  in 
Mrs.  Vernon's  eyes.  "  Science !  "  she  exclaimed, 
"  I  do  n't  call  earthquakes  science.  Everyone  has 
known  about  earthquakes,  ever  since  the  world  be- 
gan." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Glanville  laughing,  "  by  these 
admirably  brief  expressions  of  yours,  you  mean  that 
the  language  of  earthquakes  and  volcanic  catastro- 
phes is  too  blatant,  too  rhetorical,  too  frequently  re- 


A   Night's   Waking  235 

iterated,  and  too  easily  apprehended  by  the  wretched 
man  in  the  street,  to  be  worthy  of  any  serious  atten- 
tion. Well,  I  admit  that  these  noisy  phenomena  are 
rather  unrestrained  in  their  attacks  on  God's  good- 
ness to  man ;  and  if  their  rhetoric  stood  by  itself  we 
should,  perhaps,  not  be  discomposed  by  it.  But  it 
does  not  stand  by  itself.  You  do  n't  call  earthquakes 
science :  but  let  us  go  to  what  you  do  call  science.  I 
am  going  to  take  you  to  it  now :  and  you  will  find  that 
everything  which  the  earthquake  and  the  volcano 
shout,  science  repeats  and  amplifies,  and  sharpens  to 
a  fatal  point,  as  though  it  were  splitting  up  a  blud- 
geon into  a  quiverful  of  poisoned  arrows.  Everyone 
has  known  about  earthquakes,  ever  since  the  world 
began.  I  will  now  call  your  attention  to  another 
order  of  facts,  which  was  utterly  unknown  to  the 
world  till  a  very  short  time  ago.  These  are  the  facts 
of  nature  which,  when  taken  together,  make  up  the 
process  commonly  called  evolution.  I  need  n't  ex- 
plain to  Mrs.  Vernon,  who  knew  Mr.  Darwin  person- 
ally, what,  so  far  as  living  things  are  concerned,  the 
process  of  evolution  is.  I  will  only  remind  her  of 
this : —  it  is  a  process  which  depends  on  the  fact  that 
living  creatures  in  general  have  a  far  larger  number 
of  children  than  can  ever  come  to  maturity ;  that  out 
of  each  litter  or  family  some  are  better  fitted  for  the 
struggle  of  life  than  others ;  that  the  fittest  survives, 
and  the  rest  prematurely  perish.  And  this  process  of 
struggle,  selection,  and  survival,  having  for  its  basis 
indefinite  over-production,  underlies  the  historical 
progress  of  man,  just  as  it  underlies  the  production 
of  the  human  species.  This  is  all  so  familiar  that  T 
need  not  do  more  than  mention  it :  but  I  Had  just  to 


236        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

mention  it,  for  it  leads  us  up  to  the  fact  on  which  I 
am  anxious  to  fix  the  attention  of  all  of  you.     The 
Power  behind  Nature,  as  science  sees  it,  if  it  shows 
any  favor  to  living  things  at  all,  favors  the  race  or 
type,   and  is  absolutely  careless  of  the  individual. 
And  now  consider  this  Power,  as  seen  or  conceived 
of  by  the  Theist.     The  entire  religion  of  the  Theist 
is  based  on  the  passionate  belief  that  the  conduct  of 
his  Supreme  Power  is  of  a  kind  precisely  opposite  — 
that  the  individual  is  the  object  on  which  all  his  care 
is  concentrated ;    that  the  race  or  the  type  exist  for 
its  sake  only ;   and  that  his  perfect  goodness,  his  per- 
fect care  and  wisdom,  are  present  in  his  dealing  with 
each  single  human  life,  as  completely  as  they  are  in 
his  dealings  with  the  entire  and  enormous  Universe. 
All  the  doctrines,  thoughts,  hopes,  trusts,  and  emo- 
tions, that  make  up  the  religion  of  Theism,  meet  here 
as  though  in  a  single  throat ;    and  this  throat  science 
with  a  noiseless  razor  cuts.  I  do  n't  know,"  continued 
Glanville,  "  if,  in  order  to  make  that  point  clear  to 
you,  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  pile  up  the  agony,  and 
indulge  in  more  metaphors,  or  to  pepper  you  with 
details  like  a  scattering  charge  of  swan-shot.     I  could, 
of  course,  remind  you  how  the  entire  scheme  of  life, 
from  its  lowest  forms  to  its  highest,  is  made  up  of 
fighting  and  murder  —  how  this  process  goes  on  in 
the  very  veins  of  our  own  body.     I  could  show  you 
how  the  more  minutely  we  study  the  organic  king- 
dom, the  more  plainly  does  Nature's  indifference  to 
the  individual  life  appear.     But  I  need  n't  go  on. 
The  class  of  facts  I  refer  to  are  matters  of  common 
knowledge.     So  I  '11  content  myself  with  repeating 
that  the  indifference  of  Nature  to  the  individual. 


A    Night's    Waking  237 

which  fact  lies  at  the  very  root  of  organic  evolution, 
is  a  razor  applied  to  the  throat  of  natural  Theism, 
the  root  idea  of  Theism  being  that  the  individual  is 
Nature's  hero.  Can  anyone  say  anything  in  objec- 
tion to  this  conclusion  ?  " 

"  I,"  replied  Seaton,  "  can  say  a  very  great  deal, 
when  we  come  to  approach  the  question  not  through 
nature,  but  through  man.  But  even  now  I  can  say 
something,  which  is  fatal,  Rupert,  to  the  case  as  put 
by  you." 

"  And  I,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  could  say  a  little 
something  also.  But  let  Mr.  Seaton  begin.  Go  on, 
Mr.  Seaton." 

"  I  can  put  what  I  mean,"  said  Seaton,  "  in  a  very 
few  words.  I  know  little  of  the  details  of  Darwin- 
ism; and  even  if  true,  they  merely  represent  the 
method  by  which  the  development  of  certain  ideas 
has  been  realized.  Hegel  understood  development 
long  before  the  days  of  Darwinism ;  and  he  under- 
stood the  essence  of  the  process,  whereas  Darwin 
studied  only  the  incidents.  Well  —  let  us  take  the 
unfittest  human  being  you  can  imagine  —  one,  Ru- 
pert, who  according  to  you,  would  most  conclusively 
prove  Nature's  carelessness  of  the  individual.  This 
man,  after  all,  is  a  very  complicated  —  a  very  spe- 
cific thing.  He  's  more  than  a  sponge,  a  lizard,  or 
even  the  cleverest  monkey:  and  the  more  widely  he 
differs  from  the  animals  that  Darwin  gives  him  as 
forbears,  the  more  plain  is  it  that  the  man-idea  must 
have  been  latent  in  his  antecedents  from  the  begin- 
ning. How  this  idea  comes  to  acquire  its  Ausser- 
lichheit  is,  after  all,  quite  a  subordinate  question." 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Seaton,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  I 


238        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

do  n't  think  you  've  helped  me  much :  but,  for  all  I 
know,  we  may  both  mean  the  same  thing.  My  broad 
church  brother,  who  is  by  no  means  a  fool  alto- 
gether, used  always  to  be  insisting  that  the  principle 
of  natural  selection  did  nothing  to  explain  the  varia- 
tions from  which  selection  is  made.  It  merely 
weeds  out  the  bad,  but  does  not  produce  the  good: 
but  the  good  are  produced  some  how,  and  they  are 
produced  always  on  intelligible  lines.  Therefore/' 
said  Lady  Snowdon  with  a  laugh,  "  this  of  course 
was  the  end  of  it  —  these  variations  were  the  work 
of  a  good  God,  and  my  brother  was  right  in  wearing 
a  surplice  after  all.  Do  you  think,  Mr.  Glanville, 
that  there  's  anything  in  that  argument  ?  " 

"  As  you  rightly  conjectured,"  said  Glanville, 
"  it 's  very  much  the  same  as  Mr.  Seaton's ;  and  I  'm 
perfectly  willing  to  admit  that  there  may  be  great 
truth  in  both.  But  what  sort  of  truth?  My  dear 
Alistair,  it 's  a  truth  which  does  no  service  to 
Theism.  The  unfittest  man  we  can  find  is  the 
elaborate  realization  of  an  intelligently  pre-conceived 
Idea.  Let  us  suppose  it  is  so.  So  is  a  vulgar  pic- 
ture. What  is  the  inference  we  draw  from  the  vul- 
gar picture  ?  That  the  intelligent  pre-conceived 
ideas  of  the  person  who  painted  it  were  vulgar.  So 
too  in  the  case  of  your  unfit  man.  If  he  is  the  elabo- 
rate embodiment  of  an  idea  in  the  mind  of  God,  the 
idea  in  the  mind  of  God  must,  so  far  as  the  man  is 
concerned,  have  been  a  bad  idea.  The  more  intelli- 
gent and  the  more  deliberate  you  make  it,  the  more 
completely  are  you  turning  a  bungling  Intelligence 
into  a  cruel  Intelligence  —  a  homicide  into  a  mur- 
derer.    And  now  for  Lady  Snowdon,  or  for  Lady 


A    Night's   Waking  239 

Snowdon's  brother  's  way  of  putting  the  case.  It  is 
quite  true  that  evolution,  in  spite  of  its  indirectness, 
is  conceivably  a  method  of  realizing  some  designed 
end,  which  a  good  Deity  and  an  all-skilful  Deity 
might  employ,  just  as  fittingly  as  he  might  the 
method  of  direct  creation :  but  the  question  for  us,  is 
not  what  might  be  the  case  conceivably,  but  what  is 
the  case  actually:  and  here,  my  dear  Alistair,  we 
come  to  those  ways  and  means  which  Nature  employs 
actually,  and  which  seem  to  you  so  unimportant. 
Does  that  production  of  varieties,  on  which  natural 
selection  operates,  indicate  —  if  we  take  it  as  indicat- 
ing design  and  intelligence  at  all  —  indicate  design 
or  intelligence  of  any  very  high  —  to  say  nothing  of 
a  perfect  — kind?  I  can  do  better  than  answer 
Lady  Snowdon  myself.  I  had  a  letter  this  morning 
from  Mr.  Cosmo  Brock,  whose  soul  has  been  much 
exercised  by  the  Conferences  of  his  Clerical  neigh- 
bors With  the  aid  of  one  or  two  matches,  I  will  read 
you  a  part  of  what  he  says. 

"  l  Let  me  take/  he  says,  '  as  an  illustration  of 
this  ' —  he  means  of  the  folly  of  the  clergy, '  an  argu- 
ment which  the  defenders  of  supernaturalism  have 
been  recently  parading  in  my  vicinity,  and  which  is 
now,  I  am  told,  current  in  sacerdotal  circles  gener- 
ally. They  fix  on  the  fact  that  the  process  of  nat- 
ural selection  is  a  selection  from  what  are  called 
"  Sports,"  those  only  surviving  which  are  best  fitted 
to  survive.  The  Selection,  say  these  sages,  may 
doubtless  be  a  natural  process ;  but  the  varieties  and 
sports  themselves,  from  which  the  selection  is  made, 
obviously  represent  the  direct  interference  and  de- 
sign of  what  some  one  yesterday  called  the  Great 


240        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

Contriver.  Consider  we,  Mr.  Glanville  —  you  and 
I  —  the  character  of  this  argument.  If  any  inci- 
dent in  the  evolutionary  process  suggests  what  in 
man  would  be  stupidity,  or  wanton  recklessness,  or 
at  best  the  fumblings  of  an  artist,  never  skilful  and 
now  completely  blind,  that  incident  is  the  occurrence 
of  these  very  varieties.  In  order  that  one  creature 
may  be  produced  fit  to  survive,  a  multitude  are  pro- 
duced fit  only  to  perish  miserably ;  and  this  random 
method  of  production  —  think  of  it  —  is  now  fixed 
upon  by  the  defenders  of  the  prevalent  religion,  as 
the  best,  and  indeed  the  only  example,  which  they 
can  find  in  Nature,  of  the  unutterable  skill  and  wis- 
dom of  their  strange  personal  Creator.  For  me/  he 
goes  on,  '  and  I  believe  for  all  thinkers,  free  from 
the  theistic  bias,  the  one  conclusion  to  which  the 
study  of  existence  leads,  is  that  whilst  the  elements 
of  human  intelligence,  ethical  sense,  etcetera,  exist 
in  diffusion  through  the  cosmos,  they  have  no  rela- 
tion, even  remotely  conceivable  by  ourselves,  to  the 
facts  of  human  consciousness  which  we  designate  by 
the  terms  in  question.  To  call  the  Cosmos,  or  the 
All,  or  the  Supreme  Power,  or  the  Supreme  Being, 
bad,  or  stupid,  or  even  imperfect,  would,  in  my  judg- 
ment, be  the  folly  of  a  petulant  child :  but  to  call  it 
good  or  wise,  or  benevolent,  would  be  a  folly  of  still 
greater  magnitude.'  " 

"  Bravo,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Brompton.  "  I  Ve  al- 
ways maintained,  ever  since  I  looked  at  his  works, 
that  Brock  is  perfectly  right  with  that  grand  name 
which  he  has  invented  for  the  Universal  Cause  — 
for  the  Sum  of  Things  —  the  Unknowable.  How 
completely  it  puts  an   end  to  that  moral  and  re- 


A    Night's    Waking  241 

ligious  star  gazing,  which  is  really  responsible  for  all 
the  tumbles  of  the  human  race  into  cess-pools. 
Morally,  we  neither  bless  the  Sum  of  Things,  nor  do 
we  curse  it.  As  an  object  of  religion  we  simply 
sweep  it  aside.  We  have  no  more  clue  to  its  mean- 
ing than  we  have  to  the  politics  of  Mars.  The  true 
object  of  religion  — " 

"  Mr.  Brompton,  Mr.  Brompton,"  said  Mr.  Han- 
cock, "  you  are  always  what  our  Yankee  friends  call 
so  previous.  We  have  promised  to  listen  to  your  ex- 
position of  your  own  religion  bye  and  bye.  At  pres- 
ent we  've  not  quite  finished  with  even  the  first  part 
of  this  Theistic  business.  But  we  Ve  very  nearly 
finished  with  the  first  part,  I  take  it.  All 's  over  — 
eh  Mr.  Glanville  —  except  the  shouting  ?  " 

"  I  think,"  said  Glanville,  "  that  all  is  over  except 
the  shouting,  to  this  extent.  We  have  seen  that,  if 
we  consider  the  Universe  as  a  fact  external  to  our- 
selves, and  consider  the  way  in  which  it  deals  with 
ourselves  individually,  there  is  no  trace  in  it  of  any 
of  these  qualities  which  the  Theist  imputes  to  God, 
or  which  would  alone  make  it  a  worthy,  or  even  a 
possible  object  of  religion.  It  only  escapes  being  a 
moral  blot  by  being  a  moral  blank.  But  perhaps  I 
shall  shock  the  ardent  spirit  of  Mr.  Brompton  if  I 
say  that,  in  spite  of  this,  I  can  still  conceive  it  pos- 
sible, that  in  turning  from  the  Universe  without  to 
the  spirit  of  man  within,  we  might  find  in  our  own 
minds  the  key  to  the  dark  enigma,  and  derive  a  light 
which  would  show  us  that  Goodness  in  the  Universe 
after  all,  which  we  long  for  as  our  supreme  rest. 
Let  me  hasten  to  add  that,  though  I  can  conceive  this, 
I  do  n't  believe  it  to  be  the  fact."     Mr.  Brompton 


242        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

who  had  been  looking  a  little  put  out,  now  at  once 
cheered  up  again.  "  On  the  contrary,"  Glanville 
continued,  "  I  believe  that  our  failure  to  find  God 
in  the  skies  is  only  the  overture  to  our  failure  to  find 
him  in  the  human  soul.  But  Mr.  Seaton  and  many 
other  people  don't  agree  with  me.  They  believe 
that  our  minds  are  wells,  with  the  truth  of  Theism 
at  the  bottom  of  them.  See  —  here  come  the  serv- 
ants with  trays,  bottles,  and  tumblers.  Let  us  re- 
fresh ourselves  for  a  few  minutes:  and  then  from 
the  Theistic  God  we  will  turn  to  the  Theistic  man." 


CHAPTEK    III 

4  6  XJOW,"  said  Mr.  Hancock  presently,  when  the 
1^1  last  bottle  of  soda-water  required  by  the 
disputants  had  been  disposed  of,  "  before  we  go  on, 
allow  me  to  remind  you  all  that  we  are  about  to  con- 
sider a  quite  new  side  of  our  subject.  We  are  going 
to  turn  now  from  the  external  Universe  to  man ;  and 
in  fixing  our  attention  on  man,  we  are  going  to  ask 
two  questions.  Can  we  find  within  —  in  the  human 
mind  —  that  evidence  of  a  God  in  the  Universe, 
which  the  Universe  itself  won't  give  us  ?  And  fur- 
ther, even  if  a  God  of  the  requisite  kind  be  found  — 
or  even  three  Gods  if  you  like  —  is  the  nature  of 
man,  as  revealed  by  science,  such  as  to  render  him 
capable  of  that  specific  —  I  suppose  I  must  say  that 
sublime  —  relation,  with  him,  in  the  absence  of 
which,  Theism  means  nothing.  Mr.  Glanville  pro- 
poses to  begin  with  the  second  of  these  two  questions ; 
and  will  confine  himself  at  first  to  showing  us  what 
the  qualities  are  which  man  must  possess,  to  make 
this  sublime  relation  possible.  Now,  Mr.  Glanville, 
will  you  go  on  ?  " 

"  For  the  moment,  at  all  events,"  said  Glanville, 
"  these  qualities  may  be  reduced  to  two ;  and  you 
will  find  in  them  very  old  acquaintances.  First, 
man  must,  according  to  the  theistic  theory,  possess  a 
power  of  spontaneous  will  or  choice  —  a  power  of 
self-guidance  in  the  direction  of  the  divine  Good- 

243 


244        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

ness,  to  which  self-guidance,  when  man  exercises  it, 
the  divine  Will  responds.  Secondly  the  nature  of 
the  theistic  man  must  be  such  that  his  making,  or 
his  failure  to  make,  the  spontaneous  God-ward  act, 
is  a  matter  whose  importance  to  himself  not  only 
renders  trivial  every  other  success  or  failure  on  his 
own  part  that  he  can  imagine,  but  transcends  his 
imagination  altogether.  Otherwise  Theism  might 
represent  a  truth ;  but  the  truth  might  be  negligible, 
and  to  many  people  not  even  interesting.  Well,  this 
supreme  importance  can  be  real,  on  one  or  other  of 
two  suppositions  only  —  on  the  supposition  either 
that  the  human  soul  is  immortal,  or  else  that  it  will 
die  ultimately  into  the  larger  divine  life,  but  will, 
unless  it  behave  extremely  well,  have  to  live  through 
a  miserable  succession  of  individual  lives  first.  The 
Buddhist  adopts  one  supposition,  the  Theist  adopts 
the  other :  but  the  human  mind  or  soul,  so  far  as  the 
body  is  concerned,  is  just  as  immortal  according  to 
one  creed  as  the  other." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  the  human  soul,  in 
either  case  is  a  mysterious  foreign  visitor  —  an  alien 
immigrant  —  who  takes  furnished  apartments  in  the 
brain,  uses  the  furniture,  and  is  very  often  incom- 
moded by  it  —  is  sometimes  seduced  by  the  landlady 
whose  language  it  understands  well,  sometimes 
abuses  her  in  a  language  of  which  she  understands 
nothing,  and  finally  decamps  without  leaving  any 
address." 

"  My  dear  Hancock,"  said  Glanville,  "  I  did  n't 
know  you  were  such  a  poet :  but  you  ought  to  have 
finished  the  picture  by  adding  that  the  lodger  is  very 
self-willed.     Does  Mrs.  Vernon  see  what  I  mean  %  " 


A    Night's   Waking  245 

"  I  'm  not,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  quite  sure  that  I 
do.  The  soul  must  have  free  will.  That  I  under- 
stand, of  course." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Glanville.  "  But  I  mean  some- 
thing more  than  that.  We  can  all  see  that  God,  or 
the  Universe,  if  there  is  God  separate  from  it  — 
must  be  the  source  of  his  or  its  own  actions  or  pro- 
cesses. He  or  it  must  be  a  first  cause  —  a  fountain 
of  self-generating  energy." 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon.  "  You  mean  that ! 
Yes,  of  course  I  can  see  that." 

"  Well,"  said  Glanville,  "  in  imputing  free  will  to 
'the  soul  we  are  necessarily  imputing  to  it  a  some- 
thing which  is  a  miniature  or  microcosmic  duplicate 
of  this  self-generating  energy  of  the  Universe.  In 
its  own  small  way  the  soul  must  be  a  first  cause  also. 
It  must  be  a  thing  that  can  push  without  requiring 
to  be  pushed." 

"  Surely,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  this  is  merely  what 
we  all  mean  —  is  n't  it  ?  —  what  we  were  taught  in 
the  nursery  —  what  we  all  understood  as  children." 

"I'm  glad  to  find,"  said  Glanville,  "that  I've 
landed  you  on  familiar  ground.  A  child  is,  in  some 
respects,  as  good  a  philosopher  as  Kant.  And  now," 
he  continued,  "  since  we  are  all  agreed,  in  a  general 
common-sense  sort  of  a  way,  as  to  what  the  Theist 
means  by  the  soul,  the  mind,  or  the  religious  essence 
of  man,  I  'm  going  to  ask  Mr.  Seaton  to  take  the  case 
in  hand,  and  show  how  the  theistic  philosopher  —  for 
such  Mr.  Seaton  is  —  proves  this  real  or  supposed  im- 
mortal and  self-willed  entity,  the  foundation  of  a 
religious  system:  so  that  before  we  consider  what 


246        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

science  has  to  say  about  the  matter,  we  may  grasp 
the  main  ideas  with  which  it  will  come  in  conflict." 

"  I  'm  afraid,"  said  Seaton,  "  I  shall  need  some 
courage  at  starting ;  for  I  'm  going  to  start  with  the 
confession  that  I  actually  agree  with  a  bishop.  The 
Bishop  of  Glastonbury  is  not,  perhaps,  a  profound 
philosopher ;  but  at  dinner  the  other  night,  when  he 
was  describing  the  foundations  of  his  own  faith,  he 
said  what,  in  spite  of  Mr.  Hancock,  I  regard  as  fun- 
damentally true.  Admitting  that  the  theistic  man, 
if  such  a  being  exists,  must  possess  those  two  quali- 
ties which  Mr.  Glanville  has  just  dwelt  upon,  he  de- 
clared that  man's  possession  of  them  is  a  fact  abso- 
lutely indubitable  —  that  we  know  it  no  less  directly 
than  we  know  our  own  existence.  Logically,  he  said, 
no  doubt,  our  knowledge  of  our  existence,  comes 
first." 

"  With  that  view,"  said  Mr.  Hancock  dryly,  "  we 
are  not  likely  to  quarrel." 

"  He  reminded  us,"  continued  Seaton,  "  that  the 
commonest  philosophic  expression  of  this  certainty 
consists  of  the  formula  I  think;  therefore  I  am:  but 
we  may,  he  added,  say  with  equal  truth,  I  will;  there- 
fore I  am;  and  I  ought;  therefore  I  am.  In  agree- 
ing with  the  Bishop  here,  I  agree  not  with  him  alone, 
but  with  Kant,  Fichte,  Hegel,  and  all  true  philoso- 
phers. We  all  start  with  an  Ego  which  immediately 
cognizes  itself  under  the  three  aspects  of  reason, 
freedom,  and  duty.  Do  I  frighten  anybody  by  using 
these  awful  words  ?  " 

"  !No,"  said  Lady  Snowdon.  "  I  think  we  can 
pick  up  what  you  mean." 

"  It 's  a  little  difficult,"  said  Seaton  witK  charm- 


A    Night's   Waking  247 

ing  modesty,  "  to  boil  down  the  whole  system  of  true 
philosophy  into  a  sentence  or  two ;  but  after  all  phi- 
losophy is  practically  valuable  —  I  agree  here  with 
Plato  rather  than  with  the  modern  Germans  —  only 
in  so  far  as  it  results  in  certain  final  conclusions, 
which  the  ordinary  intellect  can  understand,  and 
carry,  as  it  were,  in  its  waistcoat  pocket;  so  I  will 
keep,  as  far  as  I  can,  to  general  arguments  and  con- 
clusions, which  are  capable  of  being  stated,  if  not 
proved,  in  very  simple  language.  Well  —  if  we 
know  —  and  we  do  know  as  a  truth  directly  appre- 
hended by  us  —  that  our  wills  are  free,  and  that  be- 
ing free,  they  are  uncaused  or  first  causes  —  for  Mr. 
Glanville  is  right  as  to  that  —  and  if  similarly  we 
know  further  that  with  these  free-wills  is  associated 
the  obligation  of  moral  duty,  we  know  at  the  same 
time  that  the  Ego  is  essentially  independent  of  the 
mere  physical  organism ;  and  we  infer  with  a  direct- 
ness which  almost  amounts  to  an  intuition  that  the 
First  Cause  of  all  things  is  a  Being  no  less  moral 
than  we  are.  This  is  the  bare  outline  of  the  great 
philosophic  argument :  and  thus,  from  the  mere  study 
of  the  human  mind  itself,  we  get  not  only  the  the- 
istic  man,  but  the  theistic  God  also.  You  will  no 
doubt  say  that  this  is  a  very  simple  bit  of  reasoning 
to  be  the  outcome  of  such  stupendous  labor  on  the 
part  of  so  many  philosophers.  But  the  true  task  of 
philosophy  is  not  so  much  to  discover  recondite  truth, 
as  to  prove  simple  truths,  or  to  clear  away  difficulties 
by  which  simple  truths  are  obscured.  Here  comes 
in  the  laborious  part  of  the  business  —  the  boring  of 
a  tunnel  through  the  Alps  —  so  that  ordinary  travel- 
lers can  make  the  journey  easily.     Here  is  the  work 


248        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

which  has  occupied  the  philosophic  mind,  from  the 
days  when  the  early  Greeks  made  their  first  experi- 
mental efforts,  to  the  days  when  modern  idealism 
has,  once  and  for  ever,  accomplished  it." 

"  A  capital  illustration,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  if 
only  I  were  sure  of  what  it  illustrated.  The  precise 
difficulties  which  philosophy  has  to  clear  away  —  the 
Alps  which  it  has  to  tunnel,  so  that  the  mind  may 
travel  easily  to  the  goal  of  a  happy  theism  —  what 
are  they  ?     Can  Mr.  Seaton  tell  us  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Seaton,  "  I  can.  They  consist  wholly 
and  solely  of  what  we  call  the  external  Universe,  or 
the  order  of  facts  to  which  modern  science  confines 
itself." 

"  If  philosophy,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  can  clear 
away  the  Universe,  it  is  superior  even  to  faith,  which 
contents  itself  with  removing  mountains." 

"  Let  us,"  resumed  Seaton,  "  make  just  one  sup- 
position. Let  us  suppose  that  this  Universe  which 
science  studies  were  annihilated;  and  that  nothing 
remained  but  God,  or  the  Supreme  Mind  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  human  mind  with  its  attributes  of  rea- 
son, freedom  and  moral  sense  on  the  other.  In  that 
case,  all  the  difficulties  which  Science  raises  would 
disappear.  We  should  have  no  tortuous  processes  of 
physical  evolution,  no  spectacle  of  mechanical  neces- 
sity, to  discompose  us,  or  conflict  with  our  natural 
inference  that  the  Supreme  Mind  is  good  and  acces- 
sible. But  the  mischief  is  that  the  Universe  seems 
to  come  in  the  way,  and  our  own  minds  seem  to  be 
stuck  in  it,  like  flies  in  a  plate  of  treacle.  That 's 
the  vulgar  —  that 's  the  scientific  idea  ;  and  under 
the  influence  of  this  idea  the  human  mind  argues 


A    Night's   Waking  249 

that  the  treacle  which  clogs  it,  and  takes  its  freedom 
away  from  it  when  it  struggles  to  reach  the  goodness 
which  it  naturally  imputes  to  the  Superior  mind,  is 
an  obstacle  put  in  its  way  by  the  Supreme  Mind  it- 
self. Hence,  it  argues  further,  that  its  original  and 
instinctive  inference  with  regard  to  the  goodness  of 
the  Supreme  Mind  must  be  false  —  that  freedom 
and  goodness  are  phantoms  of  our  own  engendering, 
and  that  nothing  exists  outside  ourselves  to  corre- 
spond with  them." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  that  seems  correct. 
But  it 's  a  big  thing,  Mr.  Seaton  —  this  Universe, 
this  plate  of  treacle  of  yours :  and  we  shall,  I  repeat, 
be  glad  to  hear  how  your  philosophy  gets  rid  of  it." 

"  Philosophy  —  the  true  philosophy,"  said  Seaton 
very  gravely,  "  gets  rid  of  it  in  a  simple,  and  abso- 
lutely effectual  way  —  by  showing  that  it  has  no  ex- 
istence." 

Mrs.  Vernon  gasped.  "  What,  Mr.  Seaton/'  she 
exclaimed.  "  Do  you  mean  that  it 's  all  a  dream  — 
that  the  stars  are  dreams  —  that  the  sea  is  a  dream 
—  and  that  you  were  drinking  dream-whiskey  just 
now,  out  of  a  dream-tumbler  ?  If  that 's  the  case, 
I  wish  you  would  tell  me  this  —  how  do  we  each  of 
us  get  into  the  dreams  of  other  people  ?  " 

Lord  Restormel  leaned  towards  Miss  Leighton. 
"  If  he  'd  teach  me,"  he  murmured,  "  how  I  might 
get  into  yours,  I  'd  be  a  Hegelian  to-morrow." 

"  I  told  you,"  said  Seaton,  "  that  all  the  difficul- 
ties of  philosophy  lay  not  in  its  conclusions,  but  in  its 
proofs.  I  can  yt  attempt,  of  course,  to  give  you  its 
proofs  in  detail :  but  I  can,  I  think,  make  one  funda- 
mental point  clear  to  you,  which  will  help  you  to  see 


250        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

what  the  nature  of  its  proofs  is.  That  philosophy 
gets  rid  of  the  material  Universe  seems  to  many  peo- 
ple a  hard  saying.  It  seems  so  in  consequence  of  a 
single  rudimentary  misconception.  I  ought  to  be 
able  to  remove  this  in  a  minute  or  two;  and  then 
you  will  see  the  regions  in  which  philosophy  works. 
Come  now,  Mrs.  Vernon  —  you  think  we  can  't  get 
rid  of  the  Universe  because  the  Universe  is  made  of 
matter.  Is  n't  that  so  %  To  get  rid  of  the  Universe 
by  any  process  of  thought  seems  to  you  as  impossible 
as  to  think  yourself  through  a  mahogany  door.  But 
just  ask  yourself  for  a  moment,  what  your  conception 
of  matter  is  —  the  matter  of  the  Universe  in  general, 
or  of  this  marble  balustrade,  or  of  this  lemon,  which 
is  lying  amongst  the  tumblers. " 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  to  take  a  small  thing 
like  this  lemon  —  what  is  it  I  do  mean,  when  I  say 
that  this  lemon  is  matter  ?  I  mean  that  it  is  some- 
thing that  is  quite  independent  of  myself.  It 's 
here.  I  go  away.  I  come  back  again,  and  it 's  here 
still ;  and  I  naturally  conclude  that  it 's  been  here 
all  the  time." 

"  Yes,"  said  Seaton,  "  but  what  are  its  other  quali- 
ties?" 

Mrs.  Vernon  pondered.  "  To  begin  with,"  she 
said,  "  it  's  solid.  It  ?s  not  a  mere  oval  appearance. 
If  I  drop  it  on  the  ground,  it  gives  a  little  satisfac- 
tory thud.  Then  it 's  yellow ;  and  it  has  a  nice  acid 
taste  of  its  own;  and  all  these  things  belong  to  it. 
They  don't  belong  to  me,  as  they  would  do  in  a 
dream ;  and  that 's  what  makes  a  real  lemon  not  a 
vision,  but  matter.  There  's  the  best  account  I  can 
give  you  on  the  spur  of  the  moment." 


A   Night's   Waking  251 

"  And  a  quite  good  enough  account  too,"  said 
Seaton  approvingly.  "  Come  then  —  let  us  take 
your  material  lemon's  qualities,  and  consider  them 
one  by  one.  Let  us  begin  with  its  color.  You  say 
that  its  material  skin  has  the  material  quality  of  yel- 
lowness. But  you  only  mean  that  when  you  look  at 
it,  a  sensation  which  you  call  yellowness  is  produced 
in  you  through  your  own  eyes.  Show  your  lemon  to  a 
person  who  is  color-blind;  and  the  sensation  pro- 
duced in  him  will  be  different.  To  him  the  lemon 
may  seem  red,  or  green,  or  blue,  or  any  color  you 
please.  The  color  therefore  is  not  in  the  lemon  it- 
self. The  color  is  in  your  friend  and  you,  and  dif- 
fers according  to  the  manner  in  which  your  sight  dif- 
fers from  his.  Then  take  the  lemon's  taste.  Let  a 
very  slight  change  be  made  in  your  nervous  system ; 
and  the  taste  of  the  lemon  would  be  changed  for  you 
beyond  all  recognition.  What  you  call  its  taste 
therefore,  like  its  color,  is  not  in  the  lemon  but  in 
yourself.  And  now  for  the  noise  which  it  makes 
when  it  falls  down  on  the  ground  —  the  satisfactory 
thud,  which  showed  you  that  it  is  solid  and  substan- 
tial. Suppose  that  you  and  the  whole  human  race 
were  deaf.  What  would  become  of  your  lemon's  sat- 
isfactory thud  then  ?  In  that  case,  not  only  would 
lemons  fall  to  the  ground  silently,  but  the  sea  in  its 
wildest  storms  would  be  like  so  much  undulating 
muslin,  and  planets  might  collide  and  destroy  each 
other  like  a  couple  of  meeting  snow-flakes.  As  one 
by  one  your  dispossess  yourself  of  your  senses,  so  by 
corresponding  steps  do  you  unbuild  and  annihilate 
the  thing  which  you  call  matter ;    and  all  the  move- 


252        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

ments  and  processes  of  the  whole  material  Universe 
are  reduced  to  a  Masque  of  Shadows." 

"  I  can  follow  all  this,"  said  Miss  Leighton,  "  up 
to  a  certain  point.:  but  look  here,  Mr.  Seaton,  I  Ve 
one  thing  —  no,  two  things  —  no,  I  think  three 
things,  to  put  to  you.  Will  you  be  a  patient  sage, 
and  listen  to  me  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  though  mat- 
ter did  become  a  masque  of  shadows,  still  the  shad- 
ows would  be  solid.  They  'd  be  made  up  of  some- 
thing all  through.  This  stone  balustrade,  for  in- 
stance —  it 's  not  only  stone  outside,  but  it  's  stone 
inside  also.  And  then  it 's  not  only  solid,  but  it 's 
heavy.  If  it  fell  on  a  bit  of  glass,  the  bit  of  glass 
would  be  broken,  whether  you  or  I  were  present  to 
see  the  breakage  and  hear  the  noise,  or  no.  These 
are  two  of  my  points ;  and  my  third  is  this.  Give  us 
our  senses,  you  say;  and  the  Universe  springs  into 
being,  like  a  letter  waiting  to  be  read  by  us  as  soon 
as  our  eyes  are  open.  Well  —  both  for  you  and  me 
the  letter  is  the  same  letter;  and  we  certainly 
neither  of  us  wrote  it,  for  its  contents  are  often  a 
surprise  to  us.  It  must  therefore,  surely,  exist  apart 
from  ourselves,  though  we  only  know  it  as  a  letter 
from  the  way  in  which  it  affects  our  eyes.  Now  will 
you  be  good  enough  to  take  my  points  as  I  put  them 
to  you  ? " 

"  I  think,"  said  Seaton,  "  it  will  be  best  if  I  take 
them  in  the  inverse  order.  I  '11  begin  with  your 
last.  That  something  exists  which  is  not  ourselves, 
I  grant  you.  All  I  am  saying  is  that,  apart  from  our- 
selves, it  does  not  exist  as  matter:  for  matter  is 
merely  the  conception  which  we  ourselves  form  of  it. 
I  don't  know  if  you  read  Dickens.     In  one  of  his 


A    Night's   Waking  253 

books  there  's  a  piece  of  unconscious  philosophy.  He 
is  speaking  of  a  sitting-room  called  '  Cosy '  in  an 
old-fashioned  public  house.  When  one  of  the  serv- 
ants at  night  lit  the  gas  in  it,  '  Cosy/  he  says, 
'  seemed  to  leap  out  of  a  dark  sleep.'  That 's  what 
the  Universe  does,  when  a  human  being  confronts  it. 
It  becomes  matter  only  in  the  act  of  being  thought  of 
as  matter ;  but  there  's  something  there  no  doubt, 
ready  for  thought  to  act  upon." 

"  Well/'  said  Miss  Leighton,  "  it 's  comfortable  to 
know  even  that.  And  I  suppose  you  '11  admit  that 
the  different  parts  of  this  something  go  on  affecting 
each  other,  even  when  they  have  n't  the  privilege  of 
affecting  you  and  me  by  the  way." 

"  Yes,"  said  Seaton,  "  the  unwatched  pot  would 
boil  just  as  punctually  as  the  watched  pot.  What  we 
call  material  things  would  continue  to  affect  each 
other ;  but,  Miss  Leighton,  let  me  repeat  once  more, 
that  apart  from  our  own  conception  of  them  the 
things  would  not  be  material.  You  understand  al- 
ready that —  apart  from  our  conception  of  them, 
they  would  lose  most  of  their  material  qualities  — 
for  example  the  quality  of  color ;  but  you  still  think 
they  would  keep  one  —  that  they  would  be  at  all 
events  solid.  That  stone  balustrade,  as  you  put  it, 
would  still  be  stone  all  through.  But  is  this  so  ?  I 
can  soon  show  you  it  is  not.  One  reason  why  you 
think  a  balustrade  solid  is  that  if  you  strike  it,  it 
stops  your  hand.  You  feel  its  abrupt  resistance. 
But  suppose  that  your  sense  of  touch  were  taken 
from  you,  your  hand  would  still  be  stopped:  but  so 
far  as  this  particular  experience  went,  the  balustrade 
might  be  merely  a  white  surface,  by  contact  with 


254        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

which  your  muscles  were  somehow  paralyzed.  Wait 
a  moment,  Miss  Leighton.  You  '11  tell  me  we  can  cut 
it  open,  wTith  a  saw  or  chisel,  and  see  that  its  inside 
is  just  the  same  as  its  outside  —  in  other  words,  that 
it  is  solid,  and  not  a  mere  shell  or  surface." 

"  Yes/'  said  Miss  Leighton.  "  I  should  tell  you 
that,  most  certainly." 

"  Well,"  said  Seaton,  "  let  me  ask  you  to  consider 
this.  In  however  many  places  you  sawed  your  balus- 
trade in  two,  you  would  merely  be  laying  bare  a  suc- 
cession of  new  surfaces.  Grind  your  balustrade  to 
powder,  and  you  multiply  the  same  process.  The 
throughness  or  the  insideness  of  each  minutest 
grain,  will  be  just  as  inaccessible  to  you  as  the 
insideness  of  the  whole  block." 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Lady  Snowdon.  "  I  remember 
when  I  was  quite  a  child  that  John  Stuart  Mill  would 
explain  the  whole  thing  to  me,  by  describing  matter 
as  the  permanent  possibility  of  sensation." 

"  So  far  as  he  went,"  said  Seaton,  "  Mill  was  per- 
fectly right ;  and  now,  if  you  are  not  all  tired  of  me, 
I  am  going  a  step  farther.  You  see  by  this  time 
that  our  ordinary  conception  of  matter,  depends  on 
our  senses,  and  would  also  change  if  our  senses 
changed.  But  suppose  that  whilst  keeping  our 
senses,  we  lost  our  mental  consciousness.  What 
would  happen  then  ?  The  senses  would  be  like  post- 
men bringing  letters  to  a  deserted  house.  The  let- 
ters would  mean  nothing  for  anybody.  They  ac- 
quire a  meaning  only  when  the  mind  reads  them. 
In  other  words,  what  we  mean  by  matter  is  an  idea 
which  the  human  mind  fashions  out  of  certain  im- 
pressions made  on  it  through  the  senses,  by  a  some- 


A    Night's   Waking  255 

thing  which  is  not  itself.  And  here,  Miss  Leighton, 
we  return  once  more  to  one  of  the  three  points  men- 
tioned by  you.  What  is  this  mysterious  something, 
the  insideness  of  which  seems  always  to  elude  us? 
A  lemon  or  a  balustrade  exists  for  us,  in  the  charac- 
ter of  a  material  object,  only  when  we  are  there  to 
perceive  it.  What  becomes  of  it  when  we  go  away  ? 
For,  as  you  rightly  observe,  it  is  waiting  for  us  when 
we  come  back  again.  Well,  true  philosophy  —  the 
one  key  to  existence  —  shows  us,  from  a  study  of  the 
human  mind  itself,  that  just  as  such  things  exist  for 
us,  whenever  and  for  so  long  as  we  are  ourselves  in 
a  position  to  perceive  them,  so  do  they  permanently 
exist,  and  possess  an  exteriority  or  Ausserlichkeit, 
because  they  are  always  objects  in  the  all-embracing 
mind  of  God.  Thus  everything  that  is  reduces  it- 
self to  two  living  factors  —  the  human  mind,  and 
the  divine  mind ;  and  the  Universe,  as  we  know  it, 
is  a  kind  of  duet  between  the  two." 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Seaton,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Hancock, 
"  you  're  getting  too  deep  for  us  now.  That  our  or- 
dinary idea  of  matter  is  a  mere  mental  convention, 
we  all  of  us  freely  grant  you.  That 's  the  Asses' 
Bridge  of  philosophy.  As  Mr.  Brock  says  the  es- 
sence of  things  is  Unknowable." 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Seaton,  "  but  it's  precisely 
this  essence  of  things  that  a  true  philosophy  reveals 
to  us  with  perfect  clearness.  The  essence  of  things 
is  simply  the  divine  mind,  as  apprehended  by  the 
human  mind  which  is  kindred  to  it.  The  moment 
we  realize  this,  matter  becomes  diaphanous ;  every- 
where we  see  the  divine  mind  through  it :  and  our 
own  moral  nature,  which  philosophy  thus  sets  free, 


256        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

finds  in  the  Universe  not  a  clog  or  an  obstacle ;  but 
a  medium  through  which  it  unites  itself  to  the  su- 
preme Goodness  or  Wisdom.  I'm  surprised,  Mr. 
Hancock,  that  you  should  call  this  reasoning  deep. 
My  slight  sketch  of  the  position  which  the  true  phi- 
losophy secures  for  us  is  simplicity  itself  when  com- 
pared with  the  profound  arguments  by  which  the  po- 
sition has  been  won,  and  is  still,  on  occasion,  vindi- 
cated." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  we  must  be 
most  of  us  in  a  very  bad  way,  Mr.  Seaton ;  for  the 
philosophic  gate  to  heaven  is  straiter  than  even  the 
Christian." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Seaton,  "  you  are  in  error.  Hegel 
certainly  said  that  only  two  men  could  understand 
him.  One  was  himself,  and  the  other  man  under- 
stood him  wrongly.  But  what  the  philosopher  finds 
out  with  labor,  the  world  can  accept  with  ease.  The 
world  has  no  more  need  to  understand  all  the  details 
of  philosophy  than  the  philosopher  has  to  under- 
stand any  of  the  details  of  science." 

"  That,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  is  at  all  events  lucky 
for  the  philosopher ;  for  I  do  n't  think,  Mr.  Seaton, 
that  your  method  of  philosophizing  is  likely  to  lead 
to  many  scientific  discoveries." 

"  No,"  replied  Seaton,  "  nor  do  we  desire  to  make 
them.  It  is  enough  for  us  to  know  the  nature  of 
matter  in  general,  and  to  realize  that  it  is  merely  the 
medium  by  which  mind  communicates  with  mind  — 
the  individual  mind  with  the  absolute.  If  you  want 
to  send  and  receive  a  message  by  telegraph,  the  vital 
thing  for  you  is  the  contents  of  the  two  messages, 


A    Night's   Waking  257 

not  the  precise  means  by  which  the  wire  transmits 
them." 

"Well,  Mr.  Seaton,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "the 
earlier  part  of  your  exposition  was  a  very  luminous 
statement  of  a  truth  which  we  all  admit.  You  took 
us  over  the  Asses'  Bridge  capitally;  but  when  you 
propose,  having  got  to  the  other  side  of  it,  to  ascend 
straight  into  heaven,  by  some  means  unintelligible 
to  any  one  but  yourself  and  Hegel,  you  place  us  in  a 
sad  difficulty.  We  can't  go  over  the  whole  of 
Hegel's  works  to-night.  If  we  did,  we  should  n't 
understand  them ;  so  as  none  of  your  most  important 
arguments  are  capable  of  being  produced  in  court, 
you  have  brought  us  into  a  kind  of  cul-de-sac,  for  it 's 
plain  that  we  can't  discuss  them." 

Most  of  those  present  were  of  Mr.  Hancock's 
opinion. 

"  My  dear  Hancock,"  said  Glanville.  "  I  assure 
you  that  your  alarm  is  superfluous." 

"  If  it  is,"  retorted  Mr.  Hancock,  "  I  wish  you 
would  show  us  how." 


CHAPTER   IV 

'  '  TVT R  SEAT0:NV'  resumed  Glanville,  "  though 
!.▼  A  I  admit  it  would  be  presumption  on  the 
part  of  any  of  us  to  think  that  we  could  understand 
the  arguments  on  which  he  sets  most  store,  and  which 
he  has  consequently  withheld,  has  yet  told  us  all  we 
require  for  our  appreciation  of  his  whole  position. 
I  will  not  therefore  insist  that  even  if  we  were  to 
take  on  trust  his  doctrine  that  the  Universe  is,  as 
he  says,  a  duet  —  with  ideas  for  acts  —  performed 
by  him  and  the  Absolute,  the  performance  would 
hardly  be  one  which  the  theist  would  call  religious. 
That  point,  Alistair,  I  propose  to  waive  altogether. 
I  '11  leave  your  building  to  take  care  of  itself.  I  '11 
consider  your  foundations  only ;  and  I  hope  to  show 
you  how  the  science  of  whose  details  you  think  so 
little  washes  away  the  foundations  on  which  not  you 
alone,  but  all  our  transcendental  philosophers,  build 
and  have  built  their  systems  —  washes  them  away 
altogether,  as  if  they  were  so  much  sand.  Let  us, 
however,  before  we  begin  to  quarrel,  shake  hands 
over  certain  points  with  regard  to  which  we  agree. 
In  one  sense  we  are  all  idealists  and  if  any  of  us 
were  n't  half  an  hour  ago,  you  have  converted 
them  to  the  faith  by  your  own  admirable  ex- 
position of  it.  We  all  agree  that  we  can  know 
nothing  of  the  insidenese  of  the  thing  called  mat- 
ter: but  we  still  admit,  as  you  do,  that  there  is 

258 


A    Night's   Waking  259 

something  external  which  corresponds  to  it;  and 
this  external  something  behaves  in  a  uniform  man- 
ner. The  unwatched  pot,  as  you  put  it,  boils  no  less 
than  the  watched  pot.  Thus  far  we  agree.  Now  we 
approach  our  difference.  The  boiling  of  the  pot  is, 
according  to  you,  something  that  takes  place  in  the 
absolute  mind  of  God :  but  however  this  may  be,  your 
essential  point  is  this  —  that  the  boiling  of  the  pot 
affects  the  mind  of  man,  only  as  a  telegraph  wire  — 
to  use  your  own  illustration  —  we  have  to  jump 
about  from  one  simile  to  another  —  affects  the  re- 
cipient of  some  telegraphic  message.  It  reveals  to 
the  mind  of  man  certain  workings  of  the  mind  of 
God;  but  the  mind  of  man  is  a  thing  independent 
of  the  wire,  and  —  to  use  another  of  your  expressions 
—  it  is  antecedent  to  the  message." 

"  Naturally,"  said  Seaton,  with  a  touch  of  impa- 
tience, "  naturally." 

"  Here  then,"  said  Glanville,  "  is  the  philosophic 
view.  The  philosopher  gives  us  two  full-blown 
minds  to  start  with :  and  the  Universe  of  matter  — 
the  wire  that  has  been  hung  up  between  them  —  is 
for  the  philosopher  useful  because  it  transmits  mes- 
sages ;  but  its  details  are  otherwise  of  no  very  great 
concern  to  me.  Now,  my  dear  Alistair,  we  come  to 
the  view  of  science.  Science  turns  your  view  alto- 
gether topsy-turvy,  by  showing  that  the  wire  —  the 
element  which  for  you  comes  last  —  is  in  reality  the 
element  which  comes  first,  and  that  it  not  only  trans- 
mits messages  to  the  human  mind,  but  is  itself  the 
antecedent  creator  of  the  very  mind  that  receives 
them.  Hence  the  thing  whose  details  your  phi- 
losophy will  hardly  glance  at,  is  the  first  thing  on 


2<5o        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

which  it  is  necessary  for  us  to  concentrate  our  whole 
attention.  You  all  see  the  difference  between  the 
two  positions.  Mr.  Seaton  takes  the  individual 
mind  as  his  starting-point  —  an  ultimate,  complete, 
self -existing  unit  of  fact  —  a  sort  of  Melchizedek, 
without  father  or  mother  —  without  descent. 
Science  exhibits  it  to  us  as  a  highly  complete  prod- 
uct, having  behind  it  a  long  pedigree  of  causes ;  and 
maintains  that  before  we  can  interpret  the  Universe 
through  the  individual  mind,  we  must  set  ourselves 
to  explain  the  individual  mind  through  the  uni- 
verse." 

'  This  is  merely,"  said  Seaton,  "  the  old  idea  of 
Lucretius,  who  looked  on  the  mind  or  soul  as  a  sort 
of  secretion  of  the  body.  Modern  science  offers  us 
no  new  conclusions.  It  only  harks  back  to  one  of  the 
crudest  guesses  of  antiquity." 

"  In  the  same  way,"  said  Glanville,  "  your  famous 
friend  Hegel  merely  harked  back  to  the  guesses  of 
early  guessers  like  Heraclitus." 

"Yes,"  retorted  Seaton,  "  but  between  Hegel  and 
Heraclitus  there's  one  great  difference.  What 
Heraclitus  threw  out  as  a  guess,  Hegel  gives  us  as 
the  result  of  an  elaborate  intellectual  system.  He 
did  n't  merely  state  his  conclusions.  He  showed  the 
how  and  the  why  of  them.  The  guess  is  in  this  way 
transfigured,  and  becomes  quite  another  thing." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Glanville ;  "  and  the  crude 
guess  of  Lucretius  is  transfigured  by  modern  science 
in  precisely  the  same  way.  Lucretius  saw  mind  on 
one  side  of  a  river,  and  common  matter,  such  as  earth 
and  stones  on  the  other.  He  connected  them  by  a 
visionary  and  unstable  bridge  of  what  might  be, 


A  Night's   Waking  261 

which  no  enquirer  could  walk  cross.  Modern  science 
has  connected  them  by  a  solid  bridge  of  what  is  —  a 
bridge  which  every  day  is  being  strengthened  by  en- 
gineers and  masons,  and  across  which  omnibuses  of 
ordinary  people  can  drive." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  said  Miss  Leighton,  "  that,  ac- 
cording to  modern  science,  our  minds  and  thoughts 
are  made  of  the  same  stuff  as  paving-stones?  The 
two  seem  to  me  to  have  nothing  at  all  in  common." 

"  So,"  said  Glanville,  "  do  they  seem  to  our  friend 
Mr.  Seaton,  when  Mr.  Seaton  is  in  a  certain  mood. 
I  know  from  the  very  tone  of  voice  in  which  he  just 
now  spoke,  that  he  was  pouring  private  contempt  on 
the  idea  that  the  stones  in  the  streets  of  Jena,  which 
the  great  Professor  Hegel  trod  upon,  were  only  hin- 
dered by  circumstances  from  becoming  Professors 
themselves.  But  our  friend,  when  he  is  in  this 
mood,  is  a  victim  to  that  very  superstition  from 
which  he  himself  has  been  at  such  pains  to  deliver  us. 
I  mean  our  conventional  belief  with  regard  to  the 
nature  of  matter.  He  showed  us,  as  you  remember, 
that  the  brute  stolid  solidity  which  we  impute  to 
your  friends  the  paving-stones,  and  which  seem  to 
us  the  essence  of  matter,  is  a  mere  idea  —  a  quality 
purely  mental.  His  point,  in  fact,  was  that  matter 
is  a  secretion  of  mind.  There  we  all  agreed  with 
him.  Well,  if  it  be  true  that  matter  is  a  secretion 
of  mind,  there  can  —  to  say  the  least  of  it  —  be 
nothing  absurd  in  the  idea  that  mind  is  a  secretion, 
or  a  certain  mode,  of  matter.  I  do  n't  say  that  this 
second  proposition  logically  follows  from  the  first. 
It  does  n't.  I  only  say  that  if  the  first  proposition 
be  true,  there  can,  in  the  second,  be  no  inherent  ab- 


262        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

surdity.  It  may  be  true.  Whether  it  is  true,  is  a 
separate  question :  and  this,  my  dear  Alistair,  is  the 
question  to  which  modern  science,  by  methods,  and 
with  results,  beyond  the  dreams  of  Hegel,  has,  dur- 
ing the  past  fifty  years,  been  elaborating  its  in- 
finitely complex,  but  absolutely  coherent  answer. 
Science,  you  see,  Mrs.  Vernon,  like  philosophy  and 
like  religion,  has  for  us  but  one  speculative  end  — 
namely  to  show  us  the  connection  between  ourselves 
—  our  individual  minds  —  and  the  sum  of  things 
outside  ourselves." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  that  's  all  very  well 
in  theory.  But  do  you  seriously  mean  to  tell  me 
that  men  of  science  to-day  believe  that  they  can,  as 
you  and  Stephanie  put  it,  construct  a  bridge  of  fact 
between  paving-stones  and  the  human  soul.  I  used 
to  know  Professor  Huxley  and  Professor  Tyndall 
well ;  and  I  've  over  and  over  again  heard  both  of 
them  say  two  things  —  that  we  never  can  know  how 
consciousness  comes  to  be  connected  with  the  brain; 
and  that  no  one  has  ever  discovered  the  faintest  in- 
dication of  life  rising  out  of  matter  that  was  not 
alive  before.  So  I  myself  —  though  I  speak  with 
all  humility  —  should  have  thought  that  the  result 
of  science,  though  possibly  not  its  aim,  was  not  to 
answer  the  great  question  you  speak  of,  but  merely 
to  show  us  its  own  incapacity  for  answering  it.  It 
guides  us  up  to  a  locked  door  and  leaves  us  there." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  that  would  be  very 
shabby  conduct.  Surely,  Mrs.  Vernon,  it  introduces 
us  to  some  radiant  theistic  angel,  and  says  '  This 
gentleman  will  show  you  over  our  other  depart- 
ment.' " 


A    Night's   Waking  263 


u 


As  to  how  the  brain/'  said  Glanville,  ignoring 
this  observation,  "  comes  to  be  conscious,  when  other 
matter  is  not, —  there,  no  doubt,  is  a  problem  in  it- 
self insoluble.  But  the  question  is  not  how  a  thing 
happens,  but  whether  it  happens.  A  cook  could  not 
tell  us  how  steam  rises  from  boiling  water :  but  the 
cook  knows  that  it  does  rise.  In  a  certain  sense  of 
the  word,  we  don  't  know  the  how  of  anything.  As  to 
the  division  between  living  matter  and  lifeless  —  to 
that  I  will  come  back  in  a  minute  or  two.  Let  me 
tell  my  story  in  my  own  way ;  and  let  me  start  from 
ourselves  as  we  are  —  from  the  living  human  ani- 
mal. Well  —  as  we  all  know,  and  as  I  was  saying 
the  other  day  to  Mr.  Seaton,  the  species  man,  was 
till  fifty  years  ago,  generally  regarded  as  an  isolated 
phenomenon  in  nature,  not  only  in  respect  of  his 
mind,  but  in  respect  of  his  body  also.  Then  came 
Darwin.  What  he  did,  we  know.  He  threw  a 
bridge  of  fact  across  an  enormous  chasm,  previously 
spanned  only  by  daring  but  vague  conjecture ;  and 
by  this  bridge,  he  and  his  successors  have  connected 
the  sacred  human  organism,  not  only  with  the  or- 
ganism of  the  monkey  and  the  dog,  and  the  fish ;  but 
with  the  simple  cell  —  the  lowest  of  organic  things, 
and  through  the  cell,  with  the  vegetable  world  also." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  that  we  arc 
now  asked  to  regard  ourselves  not  only  as  the  chil- 
dren of  monkeys,  but  as  the  grand-children  of  beans 
and  potatoes  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Glanville.  "  We  let  you  down  very 
gently.  The  potatoes  are  your  Scotch  cousins.  But 
the  fact  that,  physically  as  least,  they  are  your  own 
blood  relations,  is  by  this  time  as  well  established  as 


264        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

the  earth's  movement  round  the  sun.  An  odd  illus- 
tration of  this  was  given  the  other  day  by  a  writer 
in  a  Roman  Catholic  Review,  who  was  urging  that 
God's  control  over  matter  was  proved  by  the  fact 
that  every  form  of  life  —  animal  and  vegetable  alike 

—  is  traceable  back  to  the  cells  I  have  just  been 
speaking  of,  and  there  abruptly  ends:  the  organic 
world  being  thus  a  sort  of  second  universe  added  to 
the  first  by  a  new  creative  act.  Think  what  a  revo- 
lution in  thought  has  been  accomplished  in  fifty  years 

—  since  the  day  when  Bishop  Wilberforce,  amid 
shouts  of  clerical  applause,  declared  that  the  very 
idea  of  the  natural  connection  of  species  was  i  a 
flimsy  speculation,  inspired  by  the  inhalation  of  a 
mephitic  gas.'  We  may  call  this  discovery  of  the 
unity  of  the  organic  world,  at  which  the  theologians 
of  yesterday  alternately  howled  and  giggled,  and  on 
which  to-day  they  are  trying  to  build  cathedrals,  the 
first  of  these  new  and  enormous  concrete  blocks  on 
which  science  supports  its  bridge  between  the  Uni- 
verse and  the  human  mind.  Taken  by  itself,  how- 
ever, it  was  not  a  bridge,  but  a  pier,  which  the  theo- 
logians were  still  able  to  use  for  their  own  purposes. 
The  general  position  in  which  they  took  refuge  was 
this,  that  though  man's  body  was  a  product  of  the 
general  organic  system,  it  was,  as  they  put  it,  the 
mere  envelope  of  his  immortal  soul ;  and  they  sought 
to  establish  this  position  by  the  two  following  argu- 
ments. One  was  the  argument  which  Mrs.  Vernon 
just  now  alluded  to  —  that  consciousness  is  in  its 
essence  something  distinct  from  matter,  and  that 
man,  therefore,  must  have  a  spiritual  in  addition  to 
his  physical  nature.     The  other  was  derived  from 


A   Night's   Waking  265 

the  philosophy  of  Mr.  Seaton  and  the  Bishop  of  Glas- 
tonbury, according  to  which  the  contents,  as  distinct 
from  the  mere  fact  of  consciousness,  show  the  soul  to 
be  a  moral  and  self-determining  entity.  The  first 
of  these  arguments  has  been  put  by  a  modern  theo- 
logian thus.  Matter  is  extended,  or  spatial.  Con- 
sciousness, thought,  and  feeling  are  non-extended,  or 
non-spatial,  '  and  to  endow  an  extended  substance 
with  these  non-extended  attributes  is  a  metaphysical 
impossibility  beyond  the  power  of  God.'  As  to  this 
argument  I  '11  content  myself,  for  the  moment,  with 
reminding  you  of  something  which  even  our  own 
theologians  are  at  last  coming  to  realize.  I  mean 
that  if  it  is  valid  as  applied  to  man,  it  is  equally 
valid  as  applied  to  all  other  living  things.  If  a  man 
must  be  capable  of  surviving  his  spatial  body  because 
he  is  capable  of  feeling  non-spatial  pain,  so  must  a 
dog  or  a  cat  be ;  so  must  an  ant  or  flea ;  and  a  me- 
diaeval saint  might  meet  his  own  vermin  in  heaven. 
But  before  I  say  anything  more  about  this,  let  us 
look  at  argument  number  two." 

"  If,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  fleas  and  curs  are  im- 
mortal, let  us  only  hope  that  human  beings  are  not." 

"  There  are  a  great  many  dogs,"  said  Lady  Snow- 
don,  "  that  I  'd  much  sooner  meet  in  heaven  than  cer- 
tain be-diamonded  ladies  whom  I  sometimes  come 
across  in  London.  And  now,  Mr.  Glanville,  what 
are  we  to  have  next  ?  Mr.  Seaton's  argument,  is  n't 
it,  from  conscience,  and  moral  freedom  ?  Dear  me, 
how  well  I  know  it." 

"Yes,"  said  Glanville  —  "Mr.  Seaton's  argu- 
ment, and  our  Bishop's  argument,  and  the  argument 
of  half  the  world,  till  a  very  few  years  ago.     But  be- 


266        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

fore  we  dissect  it,  I  will  put  it  a  little  more  fully 
than  Mr.  Seaton  did.  According  to  him  our  thrcv 
primary  certainties  are  our  existence  as  mental 
units ;  our  power  of  self-causation,  and  the  spiritual 
authority  of  conscience.  But  to  these  contents  of 
the  mind  Mr.  Seaton  would  add  also,  though  he  had 
just  now  no  occasion  to  do  so,  our  intellectual  cer- 
tainties with  regard  to  the  truths  of  mathematics, 
and  our  ideas  as  to  space  and  time,  and  others  which 
I  need  not  mention.  And  according  to  Mr.  Seaton 
the  peculiarity  of  these  ideas  and  certainties  is  that 
we  cannot,  for  several  reasons,  have  acquired  them 
by  our  own  physical  experience,  but  that  they  must, 
on  the  contrary,  be  innate  in  us  in  order  to  make  in- 
telligent experience  possible.  I  admit  myself,  quite 
as  fully  as  Mr.  Seaton  does,  that  these  ideas  are  in- 
nate in  a  certain  sense.  That  is  to  say  they  exist  in 
you  or  me  when  we  come  into  the  world,  and  before 
Ave  've  had  any  experience  of  it.  Yes,  Alistair ;  but 
science,  in  admitting  this  fact,  invests  it  with  a 
meaning  very  different  from  that  of  your  friends  and 
you.  Let  me  illustrate,  if  one  case  out  of  a  thousand, 
what  I  am  going  to  say.  The  case  is  that  of  an  offi- 
cer —  a  notoriously  brave  man  —  who  was  terrified 
by  one  thing  only  —  namely  the  sight  of  an  injured 
finger-nail.  This  invariably  overcame  him  and 
sometimes  nearly  made  him  faint.  Why  he  should 
be  thus  affected  was  to  him  a  complete  mystery.  It 
appeared  however,  that  his  mother's  hand,  though 
he  himself  never  knew  it,  had  some  months  before 
his  birth  been  jammed  by  a  closing  door;  and  her 
feelings  on  that  occasion  had  been  reproduced  in  her 
son.     This  shows  how  one  generation  transmits  its 


A   Night's   Waking  267 

experiences  to  the  next,  the  acquired  idea  of  the 
parent  being  thus  innate  in  the  child;  and  in  just 
the  same  way,  those  other  innate  ideas  —  ideas  of 
space,  time,  the  necessity  of  mathematical  truths, 
and  so  on  —  which  we  once  supposed  to  be  ours  as  a 
heritage  from  some  other  world,  and  are  certainly 
ours  independently  of  our  own  private  experiences, 
are  now  shown  to  have  been  derived  from  the  experi- 
ences of  our  terrestial  ancestors,  and  to  be,  as  it  were, 
the  mental  precipitate  of  all  antecedent  life.  I  must 
not  inflict  any  more  of  this  exposition  on  you ;  for 
the  fact  of  heredity  itself,  and  its  general  effects  on 
character,  is  so  familiar  to  you  all,  that  it  formed  the 
other  day  our  chief  topic  at  dinner.  I  '11  merely  go 
on  to  apply  a  principle  which  we  have  all  grasped, 
to  another  of  these  innate  possessions  of  your  minds 
and  of  mine.  I  mean  our  innate  sense  of  the  differ- 
ence between  right  and  wrong  —  our  consciousness 
of  the  moral  imperative  —  one  of  the  three  rocks  on 
which  our  Bishop  and  Mr.  Seaton  build.  They  both 
accept  conscience  as  a  primary  mental  fact  —  as  the 
direct  gift  —  or,  if  you  like  it,  the  direct  reflection 
—  of  a  great  moral  Power  which  has  made,  or  which 
pervades  the  Universe.  Science  assigns  to  it  a 
wholly  different  origin.  It  exhibits  conscience  to 
us  as  the  result  of  heredity  also  —  as  the  stored  up 
lesson  of  the  experience  of  the  human  species  which 
means  this,  that  if  human  beings  are  to  live  in  socie- 
ties the  personal  desire  of  each  must  be  modified  for 
the  sake  of  all.  Here  then,  though  Mr.  Seaton  won't 
admit  it,  the  mysterious  root  or  sucker  by  which,  ac- 
cording to  him,  we  draw  our  moral  nutriment  from  a 
source  beyond  the  stars,  is  dug  up  before  our  eyes  by 


268        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

the  homely  spade  of  science,  and  is  canght  in  the  act 
of  drawing  it  from  the  soil  of  this  small  planet.  Do 
you  see,  Mrs.  Vernon,  the  point  we  have  reached 
now?  We  have  got  man's  body  as  the  outcome  of 
the  single  cell,  we  have  got  man's  conscience  as  a 
product  of  social  experience ;  and  his  other  innate 
ideas  are  accounted  for  in  a  kindred  way.  But  we 
still  have  to  consider  what  Mr.  Seaton  describes  as 
man's  knowledge  of  his  own  freedom,  or  self-caus- 
ality; and  his  knowledge  of  his  own  existence  as  a 
simple  mental  unit ;  and  we  have  also  to  come  back 
again  to  the  bare  fact  of  his  consciousness.  All  these 
three  facts,  no  doubt  suggest  the  belief  that  his  actual 
self  is  independent  of  his  bodily  organism  even 
though  we  admit  that  his  conscience  and  his  innate 
ideas  are  due,  as  we  have  just  seen,  to  the  experi- 
ences of  his  terrestial  ancestors.  Now  with  which 
of  these  three  facts  will  it  be  best  for  us  to  deal 
first  ?  " 

"  I  think,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  it  will  be  best 
for  us  to  go  back  to  the  bare  fact  of  our  consciousness. 
As  Mrs.  Vernon  has  said,  even  men  like  Huxley  and 
Tyndall  looked  on  consciousness  as  a  kind  of  insol- 
uble mystery ;  and  at  present  you'  ve  only  answered 
the  religious  arguments  which  have  this  mysterious- 
ness  for  their  basis,  by  saying  that  if  they  prove  the 
existence  of  a  soul  in  man,  they  prove  the  existence 
of  a  soul  in  animals  also.  That 's  a  damaging  re- 
tort, but  it 's  not  a  complete  refutation.  I  Ve  heard 
of  many  modern  mystical  writers  who  accept  the  im- 
mortality of  animals  with  the  best  grace  in  the 
world." 

"  Let  us,"  said  Glanville,   "  follow  Lady  Snow- 


A    Night's   Waking  269 

don's  advice.  I  'in  glad  that  she  too,  like  Mrs.  Ver- 
non, has  called  our  attention  to  Tyndall's  and  Hux- 
ley's mysticism :  for  I  wish  to  remind  you  also  of  two 
other  facts  connected  with  it.  Though  both  these 
distinguished  men  made  solemn  and  elaborate  pro- 
testations that  the  alliance  of  consciousness  with  the 
brain  was  peculiar,  and  beyond  our  comprehension, 
they  both  of  them  expressed  their  belief  that,  how- 
ever it  came  about,  the  brain  or  the  organ  of  con- 
sciousness merely  exhibited  in  concentration  some 
quality  of  matter  in  general,  which  existed  elsewhere 
in  diffusion.  I  wish  to  remind  you  also  that  Hux- 
ley towards  the  end  of  his  life  prophesied  that  sci- 
ence would  win  its  most  important  victory  in  con- 
nection with  this  very  subject  —  the  nature  of 
thought  and  consciousness.  He  was  not  deceived. 
Facts  have  been  brought  to  light  since  Professor 
Huxley's  death  which  have  caused  a  revolution  in 
our  whole  conception  of  mind.  One  of  them  is  the 
fact  that  mental  life,  in  all  its  various  and  even  its 
most  elaborate  forms,  can  exist  apart  from  conscious- 
ness just  as  completely  as  in  connection  with  it." 

"  I  confess,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  I  do  n't  see  how 
that  can  be.  If  I  'm  not  conscious  myself  that  I  've 
had  certain  thoughts  or  feelings,  how  can  anyone  else 
know  anything  about  the  matter  at  all  ?  If  I  'm  not 
conscious  that  I  remember  that  I  've  got  to  dine  out 
next  Friday,  surely  that  is  the  same  thing  as  for- 
getting it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Glanville,  "  but  suppose  you  Ve  for- 
gotten it  till  Friday  night  arrives,  and  that  then  your 
engagement  suddenly  comes  back  to  you.  That  sort 
of  thing  is  such  a  common  occurrence  that  we  none 


270        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

of  us  till  lately  Lave  thought  of  what  it  really  means. 
It  means  that  your  memory  has  been  all  the  while 
guarding  unconsciously  a  fact  which  at  last  it  gives 
back  to  your  consciousness.  But  we  're  now  able  to 
realize  much  stranger  things  than  this.  If  some- 
body asks  you  to  dinner,  your  memory  when  it  takes 
charge  of  the  invitation  knows  what  it  is  doing.  But 
consider  the  common  case  of  girls,  brought  up  in  in- 
nocence, who  utter,  in  the  ravings  of  fever,  the  foul- 
est language  of  the  streets.  What  is  the  explana- 
tion of  this  ?  There  is  one  explanation  only  —  that 
they  have  heard  such  language  unconsciously,  that 
their  memory  has  unconsciously  received  it,  and  un- 
consciously long  afterwards  gives  it  up  to  their  lips. 
But  the  full  significance  even  of  this  singular  fact 
would  possibly  never  have  dawned  on  us  if  it  had  not 
been  that  the  psychology  of  hypnotism  had  shown  us 
a  whole  world,  a  whole  system,  of  similar  facts. 
Half  of  any  new  discovery  is  generally  made  up  not 
of  a  perception  of  facts  which  we  had  not  known 
before,  but  of  a  new  perception  of  the  meaning  of 
facts  which  had  been  always  familiar ;  and  the  facts 
of  hypnotism  have  been  a  rallying-point  for  a  mass 
of  previous  knowledge,  the  details  of  which  had 
meant  nothing  to  us,  because  they  were  scattered  and 
unconnected.  Now,  when  they  are  connected,  they 
cohere  into  a  new  revelation.  We  are  now  able  to 
assure  ourselves  by  reiterated  experimental  proof  of 
a  truth  which  our  parents  —  which  Hegel,  and  prob- 
ably even  Huxley  —  would  have  looked  on  as  a  con- 
tradiction in  terms.  We  see  feeling,  memory,  hope, 
fear,  imagination,  and  the  most  elaborate  reasoning, 


A    Night's   Waking  271 

going  on  as  cerebral  processes  of  which  consciousness 
forms  no  part." 

"  Let  me  once  more,"  said  Lord  Kestormel,  "  re- 
mind you  of  what  our  dear  Bishop  of  Glastonbury 
said  about  judgment  at  our  celebrated  philosophic 
dinner  party  —  that  dinner-party  at  which,  as  it 
seems  to  me,  nearly  every  question  was  raised  which 
we  've  set  ourselves  to  thresh  out  since.  He  said 
that  our  judgments  were  formed  for  us,  rather  than 
formed  by  us.  He  said  they  were  the  results  of  a 
certain  mental  process  too  quick  and  too  complicated 
for  our  personal  consciousness  to  follow.  Well  — 
there  in  the  light  of  what  Mr.  Glanville  has  just  said, 
we  've  another  example  of  the  activity  of  uncon- 
scious reason  —  and  a  very  good  one  —  the  better 
the  more  we  think  of  it." 

"  You  see,  Mrs.  Vernon,"  said  Glanville,  "  though 
no  one  witnessed  the  process,  we  know  that  thinking 
has  been  done,  because  we  get  the  results  at  the  end 
of  it  rand  now  that  we  realize  this  activity  of  the  mind 
when  unconscious,  conscious  mind,  which  we  once  re- 
garded as  the  only  mind,  is  revealed  to  us  sprouting 
from  the  unconscious,  like  a  little  flower  from  a 
vague  and  enormous  bulb  —  from  something  which 
was  never  till  lately  recognized  as  mind  at  all." 

"It's  amazing  —  all  this,"  said  Mr.  Hancock, 
"  positively  amazing.  I  said  to  my  old  friend  Char- 
cot, when  last  I  saw  him  in  Paris,  '  Charcot,'  I  said, 
'  this  discovery  of  unconscious  mind  is  a  greater  ad- 
dition to  our  knowledge  than  the  discoveries  of  New- 
ton and  Darwin.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  you  and  your 
fellow-workers  had  taken  up  the  floor  of  our  minds, 
as  we  might  take  up  the  floor  of  a  stage,  and  shown 


272        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

us  the  machinery  which  raises  the  scenes  or  lowers 
them,  and  all  the  properties,  and  dresses,  and  books 
of  words,  lying  stored  and  ready  for  use  in  little  un- 
roofed cellars." 

"  We  might,"  resumed  Glanville,  "  if  only  we  had 
the  time,  occupy  hours  and  days  in  illustrating  what 
Mr.  Hancock  says,  but  now,  having  pointed  out  what 
the  nature  of  this  discovery  is,  all  that  we  can,  and 
all  that  we  need  do  here,  is  to  realize  its  general 
meaning.  It  means  that  between  the  matter  which 
is  known  to  us  as  associated  with  consciousness  and 
other  matter  which  is  not  so  known,  the  interspace, 
once  supposed  to  be  a  bottomless  and  impassable  gulf, 
is  filled  up  by  matter  which,  though  not  associated 
with  consciousness,  is  associated,  nevertheless,  with 
memory,  feeling,  reason  —  with  every  other  faculty 
proper  to  developed  mind;  and  that  consciousness 
rises  out  of  this,  and  constantly  sinks  back  into  it, 
by  a  change  as  unbroken  and  gradual  as  any  other 
change  in  nature." 

"  In  a  general  way,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  we 
most  of  us  know  something  of  all  this.  But,  Mr. 
Glanville,  you  must  remember  that  your  bridge  is 
only  half  finished.  You  've  shown  that  the  world  of 
organisms  from  the  plant-cell  up  to  the  man,  com- 
prises the  life  of  the  mind  as  well  as  that  of  the  body : 
but  though  you  have  thus  identified  mind  with  living 
matter,  you  have  n't  identified  living  matter  with 
dead.  If  Mr.  Seaton  will  lend  me  one  of  his  ele- 
gant similes,  you  have  thus  far  given  us  living  and 
thinking  matter  like  so  much  treacle,  lying  in  an 
earthenware  saucer.  We  '11  suppose  that  life  and 
thought  are  really  a  form  of  treacle.     Can  you  show 


A   Night's   Waking  273 

us  that  the  treacle  in  its  turn  is  a  form  of  earthen- 
ware ? " 

«  We  Ve  come  back  again,"  said  Glanville,  "  to 
Miss  Leighton's  original  difficulty  —  how  can  living 
mind  be  developed  out  of  a  dead  paving-stone  ?  Well 
—  as  I  Ve  pointed  out  already,  Mr.  Seaton  himself 
has  shown  us,  by  a  piece  of  mental  analysis,  that  the 
deadness  of  paving-stones  is  simply  an  idea  of  our 
own.  Let  me  now  turn  to  science.  It  will  teach  us 
the  same  lesson,  in  different  terms,  and  in  a  much 
more  stimulating  way.  Instead  of  merely  showing 
us  that  paving-stones,  or  earthenware  saucers,  are 
not  dead,  it  shows  us  that  they  consist  of,  and  are 
what  they  are  by  reason  of  countless  particles  in  a 
state  of  intricate  and  constant  movement.  Do  you 
see  this  tumbler?  We  may  say  of  it,  in  Words- 
worth's language, 

'  Thoughts  are  busier  in  the  mind  of  man 
Than  the  mute  agents  striving  there/ 

Thus,  if  your  treacle  represents  our  mental  and  or- 
ganic activities,  your  earthenware  plate  that  holds 
them  is  itself  equally  active.  That  its  atoms  are 
active  to  some  degree  is  a  fact  that  has  been  long 
known:  but  the  extent  of  their  activity  is  a  fact 
which  has  only  just  dawned  on  us.  We  saw  their 
movements  yesterday  like  a  crowd's  movements  seen 
from  a  balloon.  We  see  them  now  like  cockneys, 
who  are  watching  the  traffic  of  the  city.  The  only 
question  is,  does  this  traffic  and  movement  which  we 
now  see  to  prevail  throughout  the  whole  inorganic 
world,  differ  in  kind  from  the  movement  which 


274        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

seemed  till  very  lately  to  make  its  first  appearance 
in  the  simplest  organic  cell  ?  Huxley,  though  he  be- 
lieved them  to  be  identical,  could  not  detect  their 
identity  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon.  "  He  has  told  me  so 
very  often." 

"  And  no  doubt,"  said  Glanville,  "  he  very  often 
told  you  also,  that  chemistry,  which  simplified  mat- 
ter up  to  a  certain  point,  ended  in  giving  us  some 
sixty  or  seventy  elements,  which  defied  farther 
analysis,  and  refused  to  part  with  their  differences. 
Huxley  believed  that  at  bottom  they  are  really  the 
same  substance :  but  he  admitted  that  this  belief  was 
supported  by  no  experience.  Its  sole  support  was 
analogy.  ~No  one  of  the  elements  ever  changed  it- 
self, or  could  be  made  to  change  into  another.  Here, 
so  far  as  proof  went,  was  a  missing  link  in  his  sys- 
tem. Since  Huxley's  death,  the  missing  link  has 
been  found.  One  of  their  elements,  radium,  has 
been  actually  detected,  changing  itself  into  another 
element,  helium.  The  Unspeakable,  as  Goethe  says, 
has  here  grown  to  fulfilment." 

"  Thus  felt  I,"  murmured  Lord  Restormel,  who 
seemed,  for  a  wonder,  by  this  time  to  have  forgotten 
Miss  Leighton  — 

t  Thus  felt  I,  as  some  watcher  of  the  skies 
When  some  new  planet  swims  into  his  ken.' " 

"And  this  is  not  all,"  said  Glanville.  "The 
change  of  one  of  these  intractable  elements  into  an- 
other does  indeed  foreshadow  the  change  of  lifeless 
matter    into   living.     But    recent    discoveries   have 


A    Night's   Waking  275 

given  us  something  more  than  mere  foreshadowings. 
Helium  is  made  up  of  atoms ;  radium  is  made  up  of 
atoms;  all  matter  is  made  up  of  atoms  likewise. 
Atoms  till  lately  were  looked  on  as  ultimate  particles. 
Now  they  too  have  opened  to  the  touch  of  science, 
and  are  yielding  up  their  secrets.  Solvet  saeclum  in 
favilla.  To  think  of  all  this  makes  us  feel  as  Lu- 
cretius felt,  what  is  half  a  horror,  and  half  a  divine 
rapture.  Here  however,  is  a  subject  about  which, 
as  I  'm  not  a  specialist,  I  will  not  trust  myself  to 
speak  in  my  own  words.  I  '11  strike  another  match 
—  I  believe  I  have  still  one  left  —  and  read  to  you 
what  a  certain  cautious  man  of  science  has  said  about 
it.  i  The  atom,'  he  says,  '  which  till  lately  was 
looked  on  as  a  simple  unit,  is  now  known  to  be  com- 
posed of  elements  called  electrons ;  and  we  find  them 
to  be  really  in  a  state  of  perpetual  change.  Now 
one  electron  is  separated,  and  now  another  takes  its 
place.  Thus  the  process  of  the  actual  change  of  the 
substance  of  the  atom  is  continuous,  whilst  the  atom 
itself  as  one  individual  retains  its  properties,  and 
so  far  remains  the  same.  Is  the  atom  then,  an  ele- 
mentary cell  —  a  living  thing  ?  Our  own  view  is 
that  the  atom  preserves  its  identity  in  the  same  man- 
ner that  a  cell  does,  and  bears  the  same  relation  to 
the  latter  that  this  does  to  a  living  organism.  The 
distinction,  apparently  insuperable,  that  the  biologist 
holds  to  exist  between  living  and  so-called  dead  mat- 
ter, should  thus  pass  away  as  a  false  distinction,  and 
all  Nature  appear  a  manifestation  of  life :  this  being 
the  play  of  units  of  we  know  not  what,  save  that  it  is 
what  we  call  electricity.'  Think  of  all  this,"  Glan- 
ville  continued,  "  think  of  it.     Here  indeed,  Ali- 


276        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

stair,  to  adopt  your  own  comparison,  here  indeed  we 
have  a  tunnelling  of  the  Alps;  and  an  incident  of 
the  actual  tunnel-making  is  repeated.  The  boring 
of  the  rock  was  begun  at  both  ends  simultaneously: 
and  so  accurately  is  the  work  directed  that  the  two 
sets  of  workmen  can  at  last  hear  each  other  tapping 
through  the  stone  which  still  divided  them.  Then 
this  falls  and  crumbled,  and  the  two  armies  meet. 
Have  not  our  tunnellers  in  living  and  lifeless  matter 
been  gradually  coming  to  hear  each  other  through 
the  dividing  wall  also  —  faintly  first,  and  then  each 
year  more  clearly,  till  for  them,  too,  the  wall 
crumbles  and  the  waters  of  the  living  and  the  life- 
less at  last  meet  and  mix  together  in  a  single  living 
sea?" 


CHAPTEE    V 

i  i  pjAMOUSLY  put !  "  cried  Mr.  Hancock,  clap- 
m-  ping  his  hands ;  "  and  I,  for  one,  believe  in 
these  discoveries  thoroughly.  But  may  I  be  per- 
mitted to  throw  what  will  seem,  though  for  a  mo- 
ment only,  a  tea-cup  of  cold  water  on  this  conclu- 
sion ?  Let  us  suppose,  though  I  do  n't  believe  it, 
that  these  discoveries  are  not  yet  complete ;  and  that 
our  theistic  friends  will  be  able  for  some  time  longer 
to  claim  that,  so  far  as  our  certain  knowledge  goes, 
the  organic  world  is  divided  from  the  inorganic  still. 
What  I  want  to  point  out  is  that  they  gain  nothing 
by  doing  so,  but  rather  intensify  the  difficulties  of 
their  own  position.  You  see  it 's  this  way.  Accord- 
ing to  admissions  which  even  they  are  obliged  to 
make,  the  organic  world  in  itself  is  a  single  fact  at 
all  events.  The  treacle  is  the  same  as  the  treacle, 
even  if  it 's  not  the  same  as  the  saucer :  and  our  minds 
are  so  many  treacle  bubbles,  which  appear  on  the 
surface  of  the  stuff  and  then  burst  and  are  lost  in  it. 
I  can  't  see  how  the  individual  man  comes  a  scrap 
nearer  to  the  theist's  grand  requirements  because 
he  rots  like  an  organic  turnip,  than  he  would  if  he 
rusted  away  like  a  fragment  of  inorganic  iron,  and 
as  for  the  theistic  God,  his  case  in  supposition  is 
worse,  not  better  than  before.  I  mean  that  if  the 
Universe,  taken  as  one  big  whole,  can  ?t  supply  us  — 
and  we  ?ve  seen  already  that  it  can  't  —  with  any 

277 


278        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

evidence  of  any  moral  intention,  or  any  infinite  and 
all-wise  goodness,  on  the  part  of  the  Power  behind 
it  towards  the  individual  man,  we  shall  certainly  not 
find  this  evidence  by  splitting  the  Universe  in  two, 
and  setting  ourselves  to  look  for  it  in  the  organic  half 
only.  We  shall  only  make,  by  doing  this,  its  absence 
the  more  conspicuous.  And  why?  Does  anybody 
here  fail  to  see  the  reason  ?  The  reason  is,  it 's  pre- 
cisely this  organic  half  that  supplies  us  with  all  these 
evidences  of  blindness,  imperfect  skill,  and  disregard 
of  the  individual  man,  which  make  the  ascription  of 
any  theistic  virtues  to  the  Universe  as  a  whole,  or  the 
Power  behind  it,  impossible.  By  trying  to  shelter 
ourselves  in  this  kind  of  organic  pantheism  —  I 
think,  Mr.  Glanville,  that 's  rather  a  happy  phrase 
of  mine  —  we  do  n't  get  rid  of  the  theist's  difficul- 
ties; we  concentrate  them.  We  bring  them  all 
down  on  our  heads,  as  if  we  'd  pulled  the  string  of  a 
shower-bath." 

"  Mr.  Hancock,"  said  Seaton  with  suave  gravity, 
"you  and  I  have  found  ourselves  in  disagreement 
as  to  many  points.  I  'm  happy  to  discover  one  as  to 
which  we  are  in  complete  accord.  If  the  goodness 
of  the  Absolute  does  not  reveal  itself  in  life,  we  gain 
nothing  whatever  by  separating  life  from  death,  I  've 
no  doubt  Mr.  Glanville  is  surprised  to  find  that  I  've 
any  voice  left  in  me.  You  think,  Rupert,  that  I 
ought  to  be  annihilated  by  all  your  scientific  discov- 
eries: but  no  —  no.  I  can  accept  them,  not  only 
without  confusion,  but  even  without  wonder.  For 
us,  no  less  than  for  you,  the  entire  Universe  is  one : 
but  allow  me  to  remind  you  of  the  last  few  words  of 
the  passage  which  you  have  just  quoted  to  us.    '  Life,' 


A  Night's  Waking  279 

the  writer  said,  '  is  made  up  of  the  play  of  units  ' — 
but  '  units,'  he  added,  '  of  we  know  not  what,  save 
that  it  is  what  we  call  electricity.'  The  units  of  his 
so-called  matter,  the  more  completely  he  isolates 
them,  become  yet  more  obviously  mysterious  than 
these  units  in  combination.  He  can  give  them  a 
name.  He  can  tell  us  how  they  combine  and  trans- 
figure themselves:  but  of  what  in  themselves  they 
are,  his  science  can  tell  us  nothing.  If  he  wants  to 
know  that,  philosophy,  not  science,  must  be  his 
teacher;  and  philosophy  will  show  him  that  what 
they  are  in  themselves  is  so  many  activities  of  the 
absolute  or  universal  mind,  which  the  individual 
mind  converts  for  its  own  use  into  so  many  ideas 
which  are  symbols  of  them." 

"  My  dear  Alistair,"  said  Glanville,  "  surely  we 
told  you  plainly  as  words  can  tell  anything,  that  we 
all  saw  and  admitted  as  fully  and  as  clearly  as  you 
do,  the  utter  inability  of  science  to  reveal  to  us  what 
matter  is :  but  if  you  'd  like  me  to  call  it  the  activity 
of  the  Absolute  Mind,  I  'm  quite  willing  to  do  so. 
It  will  make  no  difference.  If  the  branch  of  a  tree 
falls  down  and  breaks  my  leg,  the  important  thing 
for  me  is  not  what  it  is,  but  what  it  does.  Please  be- 
lieve, if  you  can,  that  we  are  not  altogether  idiots. 
We  're  nearer  even  to  Hegel  than  you  think  we  are." 

"  All  true  thought,"  said  Seaton,  "  moves  in 
Hegel's  direction,  even  when  it  least  thinks  that  it  is 
doing  so." 

"  Yes,"  said  Glanville,  "  but  between  our  thoughts 
and  yours  and  Hegel's,  in  spite  of  their  resemblances, 
there  is  one  great  division,  if  only  I  could  make  you 
see  it.     Let  me  go  on  from  the  point  where  I  left  off ; 


280        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

and  what  the  division  is  will  soon  be  plain  enough. 
I  showed  you  that  the  difference  between  living  and 
so-called  lifeless  matter  is,  even  if  it  has  not  entirely 
disappeared  by  this  time,  daily  melting  away  like  ice 
under  the  rays  of  science ;  and  that  nothing  is  left,  if 
anything  is  left  at  all,  but  the  thinnest  and  most 
transparent  film,  which  may  vanish  at  any  moment. 
But  as  you,  Alistair,  admit,  and  as  Mr.  Hancock  in- 
sists, and  as  we  all  can  see,  the  survival  of  such  a  film 
as  this  would  have  no  effect  whatever  on  the  ques- 
tion we  are  now  discussing.  If  the  reason,  the  con- 
sciousness, the  conscience  and  the  ideas  of  man,  are 
merely  the  transitory  results  of  a  general  vital  pro- 
cess, our  theists  could  derive  small  comfort  from  the 
thought  that  this  general  vital  process  which  pro- 
duces lice  and  leprosy,  could  not  be  identified  with 
that  which  produces  suns  and  sapphires.  We  shall 
therefore  be  simplifying  our  argument,  without  in- 
troducing any  element  into  it  which  the  theist  would 
gain  by  excluding,  if  we  assume  that  these  two  pro- 
cesses have  been  shown  definitely  to  be  the  same.  I 
suppose,  Mrs.  Vernon,  if  you  discovered  that  you 
were  the  sister  of  a  flea,  your  family  pride  would 
suffer  no  further  shock  if  you  discovered  that  you 
were  sister  to  the  Aurora  Borealis  also." 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  I  do  n't  suppose  it 
would.  I  think  on  the  contrary,  I  should  feel  rather 
more  respectable." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  Glanville,  "  our  bridge 
between  man  and  the  Universe  is  now  so  far  complete 
that  we  know  the  inorganic  atom  to  be  the  archetype 
of  the  organic  cell :  the  single  organic  cell  to  be  the 
ancestor  of  the  human  brain :  and  that  we  know  or- 


A    Nights    Waking  281 

ganic  life  which  does  not  possess  consciousness,  to 
possess  the  faculties  of  reason,  feeling,  and  memory ; 
and  to  be  that,  out  of  which  consciousness,  under 
given  conditions,  rises.  To  put  the  case  roughly,  the 
substance  of  the  Universe  is  revealed  to  us  under 
three  conditions  —  that  of  so-called  lifeless  matter ; 
living  matter  which  is  unconscious ;  and  living  mat- 
ter which  flowers  out  into  consciousness.  The  first 
leads  up  to  the  second  as  milk  leads  up  to  cream. 
The  second  leads  up  to  the  third  as  cream  leads  up 
to  butter.  But  we  have  n't  come  to  the  end  of  our 
business  yet.  We  have  connected  a  good  deal  of  man 
with  the  general  substance  of  the  Universe ;  but  two 
bits  of  him  remain  which  we  have  not  yet  tried  to 
deal  with.  One  is  his  freedom,  and  the  other  is  his 
mental  unity,  both  of  which,  according  to  Mr. 
Seaton' s  philosophy,  man  knows  himself  to  possess 
by  a  direct  act  of  intuition.  If  Mr.  Seaton  is  right, 
and  if  man  does  really  possess  them,  it  is  still  con- 
ceivable that  all  his  other  possessions  may  be  some- 
thing which  the  Universe  provides  him  with  for  his 
purely  temporary  use,  in  order  to  equip  him  for  his 
part  in  terrestrial  life ;  and  his  essence  may  still  be 
something  distinct  from  the  Universe  altogether.  It 
therefore  remains  for  us  now  to  take  these  two  pearls 
of  price  and  examine  them ;  and  we  will  take  man's 
freedom,  or  his  alleged  freedom,  first.  Here  again, 
in  a  sense,  I  agree  with  Mr.  Seaton  completely.  We 
believe  ourselves  to  be  free,  because  we  feel  our- 
selves to  be  free ;  but  what  I  shall  try  to  make  plain 
to  you  is  that  this  feeling  of  freedom  is  shown  by 
science,  if  science  can  show  us  anything,  to  be 
neither  more  nor  less  than  an  optical  delusion  of  the 


282        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

mind.  It  resembles  a  feeling  which  we  all  of  us 
have  often  experienced  when  sitting  in  a  stationary 
train,  and  looking  at  a  train  next  us,  which  slowly 
begins  to  move.  We  feel  that  the  movement  belongs 
to  our  own  train,  and  not  the  other ;  and  we  can  es- 
cape from  our  illusion  only  by  looking  at  something 
else  which  is  not  on  wheels  at  all.  In  the  case  of 
our  own  wills,  science  teaches  us  to  proceed  in  very 
much  the  same  way.  It  shows  us  precisely  how  the 
feeling  that  we  are  free  originates ;  and  shows  at  the 
same  time  that  the  feeling  has  taken  us  in." 

"  May  I,"  interrupted  Seaton,  "  from  my  own 
point  of  view,  say  something  before  you  go  on,  which 
perhaps  will  save  you  trouble  ?  Anybody  can  see 
that  apart  from  our  feeling  of  freedom,  which  phi- 
losophy takes  as  its  starting  point,  it  is  not  only  easy 
to  prove  that  all  our  actions  are  necessary,  but  that 
it  is  quite  impossible  to  prove  anything  else.  It 's 
the  old  story  of  motive  and  action.  We  can  't  act 
without  motive;  motive  depends  on  desire;  desire 
depends  on  the  character  which  we  brought  with  us 
into  the  world,  together  with  the  circumstances  with 
which  the  world  has  surrounded  us;  and  these  two 
things  push  us  and  pull  us  from  our  first  day  to  our 
last.  We  are  like  toy-boats,  with  paddles  that  go  by 
clock  work.  We  are  put  in  a  pond  helpless ;  and  are 
bound  to  go  where  the  paddles  and  the  water  take  us. 
That 's  all  very  well ;  but  we  get  rid  of  our  freedom 
not  because  we  Ve  explained  it  away,  but  because  we 
have  left  it  out.  If  you  '11  pardon  me  for  referring 
once  more  to  our  friend  the  Bishop  of  Glastonbury : 
he  hit  the  right  nail  on  the  head,  when  he  said  that 
in  each  of  these  boats  there  was  really  a  living  steers- 


A    Night's   Waking  283 

man  —  perhaps  an  inconvenient  passenger,  but  one 
whom  we  can  't  get  rid  of.  Under  ordinary  condi- 
tions he,  within  certain  limits,  can  steer  the  boat  in 
what  direction  he  will.  Therefore  the  boat  is  free. 
It  ceases  to  be  a  clock-work  toy.  It  only  fails  to  be 
free  when,  under  conditions  that  are  not  ordinary,  it 
gets  into  currents  so  strong  that  the  paddles  can  't 
contend  with  them,  and  the  rudder  is  ineffectual. 
Then  our  boat,  it  is  true,  drifts;  it  is  steered  no 
longer:  but  the  great  fact  remains  that,  except  in 
such  rare  cases,  its  course  is  determined  by  steering, 
and  not  by  drifting." 

"  I  must  thank  you,"  said  Glanville,  "  for  having 
made  in  a  few  words  an  admission  which  most  of 
your  friends  make  in  a  great  many.  You  say  there 
is  a  steersman  in  your  boat,  not  because  it  is  neces- 
sary for  explaining  the  boat's  course  to  an  observer ; 
but  because  the  boat  has,  or  you  have,  as  you  would 
say,  an  immediate  cognition  of  his  presence.  But 
now  I  want  you  to  tell  me  a  little  more  clearly  than 
you  have  done  what  this  cognition  consists  of." 

"  The  cognition,"  said  Seaton,  "  consists,  or  seems 
to  consist,  of  three  parts  —  for  on  closer  inspection 
they  resolve  themselves  into  one :  and  these  may  be 
expressed  by  saying,  I  choose  ;  I  resist ;  I  endeavor. 
We  usually  think  of  our  freedom  as  revealed  to  us  in 
the  act  of  choice :  but  our  mere  feeling  that  we 
choose,  though  it  suggests  the  truth,  would  hardly 
be  enough  to  prove  it ;  for  the  effort  involved  in  it  is 
very  often  so  small.  The  Bishop  of  Glastonbury's 
illustration  is  for  this  reason  not  quite  adequate. 
The  action  of  a  steersman  does  n't  suggest  exertion 
enough.     Our  cognition  of  our  freedom  is  a  know- 


284        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

ledge  that  we  are  ourselves  making  an  effort  —  that 
we  are,  as  you  put  it  yourself,  pushing  without  being 
pushed ;  and  our  exercise  of  choice  unmistakably  re- 
veals to  us  this  power  of  ours,  only  when  our  choice 
of  our  line  of  conduct  involves  our  resisting  with 
vehemence  a  desire  to  follow  some  other  —  as  would 
be  the  case  with  an  incipient  drunkard  resisting  the 
desire  to  drink.  But  our  cognition  of  our  freedom 
goes  deeper  down  than  this  even.  It  consists,  in  the 
last  resort,  of  a  direct  consciousness,  an  indefeasible 
certitude,  that  when  we  are  striving  to  follow  out 
some  line  of  conduct  which  we  have  chosen,  no  less 
than  when  we  are  resisting  the  temptation  to  follow 
another,  the  struggle,  the  intensification  of  action, 
originates  in  our  own  selves  —  that  we  are  in  short 
—  again  to  quote  your  own  words  —  sources  of  self- 
generating  energy." 

"  Precisely,"  said  Glanville.  "  This  is  the  very 
point  to  which  I  wished  to  bring  you  back.  If  we 
never  give  either  a  negative  push  in  resistance,  or  a 
positive  push  in  enterprise,  without  having  been 
first  pushed  by  something  outside  ourselves,  we  are 
not  free,  and  there  's  an  end  of  it.  But  that  we  are 
free  —  that  we  do  give  such  pushes  —  is,  as  you  say, 
proved  to  us  by  our  direct  consciousness  that  we  do 
so.  The  whole  question,  then,  comes  to  this  —  What 
is  such  consciousness  worth  ?  And  here  's  the  an- 
swer. The  evidential  value  which  you  and  Hegel, 
and  Kant,  and  Fichte,  and  mankind  in  general,  have 
up  to  now  imputed  to  it,  depends  on  ways  of  thinking 
which  had  developed  themselves  before  the  dawn  of 
science.  The  effect  of  science  is  to  make  these  ways 
of  thinking  impossible:  and  the  feeling  that  we  are 


A    Night's   Waking  285 

in  ourselves  the  source  of  our  own  energy  loses  the 
whole  of  its  evidential  value  in  consequence,  and  as- 
sumes an  aspect  so  changed  that  we  can  hardly  recog- 
nize it.  I  '11  explain  this  in  detail,  but  I  '11  do  so 
as  briefly  as  I  can.  It  will  be  enough  to  take  the 
case  of  a  course  of  action  which  is  chosen,  not  re- 
sisted: and  which  having  been  chosen,  is  pursued 
with  sustained  ardor  and  resolution.  I  '11  take 
once  more  the  case  of  an  habitual  drunkard,  whose 
inherited  and  morbid  craving,  as  even  Mr.  Seaton 
admits,  may  deprive  the  will  of  its  efficacy  as  a  free- 
agent,  and  reduce  its  possessor  to  a  puppet  of  heredi- 
tary impulse.  We  've  often  referred  to  poor  Lady 
Cicely  Morland,  whose  mania  is  so  well-known  that 
we  do  n't  wrong  her  by  talking  about  it.  Well  — 
her  husband  has  lately  kept  her,  as  much  as  he  could, 
in  Ireland ;  and,  for  her  sake,  not  a  drop  of  alcohol 
is  allowed  to  be  brought  into  the  house.  Well,  I 
daresay  you  know  that  she  is  n't  a  strong  woman.  A 
half-hour's  walk  generally  knocks  her  up.  And  yet 
last  spring,  that  woman  in  the  worst  of  weather, 
eluded  her  husband  in  the  cleverest  way  possible, 
and  trudged  nine  miles  across  the  Connemara  mount- 
ains, in  order  to  buy  whiskey,  which  she  brought 
back  and  hid  in  her  dress-cupboard.  Her  maid, 
who  suspected  her  intention,  tried  to  stop  her ;  but 
Lady  Cicely  laughed  at  her,  saying  1 1  'm  determined 
to  go.'  There  you  have  all  the  signs  of  effort,  strug- 
gle, energy  —  what  Mr.  Seaton  calls  the  intensifica- 
tion of  action :  and  yet  he  admits  that  the  energy  was 
in  this  case  not  self-generated,  but  that  our  friend 
was  on  the  contrary,  its  victim,  instead  of  its 
originator.     What  Mr.  Seaton  admits  to  be  true  in 


286        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

a  case  like  this,  science  shows  to  be  true  in  the  case 
of  action  generally." 

"  I  do  n't,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  see  why  that 
should  follow.  Why  should  what 's  true  in  one  case 
be  true  in  other  cases  which  are  different  ?  That 's 
surely  a  mere  assumption.     Where  's  your  proof  ?  " 

"  Our  proof/'  said  Glanville,  "  is  this.  Lady 
Cicely,  whom  we  admit  to  be  urged  to  her  nine-mile 
walk  by  a  craving  for  whiskey  which  did  not  origi- 
nate in  herself,  tells  her  maid  that  she  is  determined 
to  go.  The  consciousness  of  determination,  resolve, 
vehement  energy,  is  never  stronger  than  it  is  in 
cases  like  hers:  and  thus  the  sole  evidence  that  we 
are  the  authors  of  our  own  actions,  is  admittedly 
false  in  the  cases  where  it  seems  to  be  most  conclu- 
sive. The  moment  we  realize  that  we  need  n't  be- 
lieve it  is  there,  we  lose  all  ground  for  believing  it 
anywhere  else.  A  further  proof  consists  in  the  fact 
which  we  have  discussed  already,  that  every  separate 
element  which  is  involved  in  an  act  of  will  —  not 
only  our  desires  which  obviously  depend  on  our  tem- 
peraments, but  our  moral  sense  also  by  which  these 
desires  are  modified  —  alike  result  from  a  long 
process  of  transmission,  and  are  made,  as  the  Bishop 
so  happily  said  of  our  judgments,  not  by  us  but  for 
us.  You  see,  Mrs.  Vernon,  if  we  are  what  we  are  by 
inheritance,  the  normal  person  like  yourself,  who 
does  n't  want  to  get  tipsy,  is  just  as  much  deter- 
mined by  inherited  temperament,  as  Lady  Cicely  is, 
who  wants  to." 

"  But  surely,"  Mrs.  Vernon  persisted,  "  you  're 
leaving  something  out.  The  normal  person,  even  if 
he  wanted  a  glass  too  much,  would  be  able,  as  just 


A    Night's    Waking  287 

now  you  said  yourself,  to  resist  the  want.  To  me  it 
seems  that  what  makes  us  feel  our  freedom  is  the 
struggles  we  make  to  resist  doing,  not  those  we  make 
to  do.  So  far  as  mere  doing  is  concerned,  if  we  sim- 
ply are  guided  by  our  desires,  I  can  fancy  that  our 
sense  of  will  might  be  merely  the  kind  of  feeling 
which  the  water  might  have,  if  conscious,  when  it 
felt  itself  plunge  down  from  the  top  of  Niagara  to 
the  bottom.  But  then  the  water  has  no  tendency  to 
do  anything  else." 

"  ETot  as  it  falls,"  said  Glanville ;  "  but  think  of 
the  pools  below.  There  you  will  find  it  in  every  kind 
of  conflict :  yet  there  is  not  a  single  movement  of  the 
leaping  and  meeting  waves,  which  does  not  owe  its 
origin,  just  as  much  as  the  falls  do;  to  the  river  by 
which  the  falls  are  fed.  Only  continue  to  the  bat- 
tling water  the  consciousness  which  you  have  given 
to  the  falling,  and  you  '11  see  that  a  sense  of  struggle 
is  no  proof  of  freedom." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Leighton.  "  I  quite  under- 
stand that.  It  reminds  me  of  something  I  was  read- 
ing in  my  little  book  about  Spinoza.  Spinoza  said 
that  a  stone,  thrown  by  a  boy,  would,  if  conscious, 
certainly  think  itself  free.  It  would  think  that 
its  movement  originated  not  in  the  boy  but  in  it- 
self." 

"  Of  course,"  Glanville  continued.  "  I  might 
point  the  moral  of  my  pool  by  reminding  you  that 
some  people  have  inherited  weak,  other  people  ac- 
tive, consciousness:  some  people  weak,  other  people 
sturdy  desires ;  and  that  all  of  these  come  from  the 
Xiagara  of  previous  life,  and  clash  with  different 
results  according  to  their  strength  and  weakness.     I 


288        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

might  further  improve  the  occasion  by  referring  to 
the  old  determinist  argument  drawn  from  the  de- 
pendence of  all  will  on  motive  —  an  argument  which 
Mr.  Seaton,  like  Kant,  admits  to  be  in  itself  unan- 
swerable ;  and  might  show  Mrs.  Vernon  that  science 
not  only  clenches  it,  so  far  as  it  goes,  by  clothing  it 
with  a  tangible  body,  but  pushes  it  farther  by  bring- 
ing the  fact  home  to  us  that  three-fourths  of  our 
waking  actions  belong,  like  digestion,  to  the  part  of 
us  which  is  unconscious,  and  take  place  without  any 
intervention  of  conscious  motive  at  all.  But  to  do 
this  is  unnecessary.  It  will  be  enough  if  I  sum  up 
the  matter  in  one  single  inclusive  statement.  Sci- 
ence shows  us  that  our  wills  are  not,  and  cannot  be 
free,  because  it  shows  us  that  there  is  nothing  free 
in  the  Universe.  It  is  one  long,  unbroken,  and  ever- 
developing  object-lesson  in  the  great  law  of  causa- 
tion. Till  very  lately  this  law  was  so  imperfectly 
grasped  by  most  people,  that  all  kinds  of  ex- 
ceptions to  it  were  tacitly  assumed  even  by  the 
educated.  The  survival  of  this  mood  of  mind  with 
regard  to  external  nature  is  still,  as  Mr.  Brock  ob- 
served, shown  by  the  continued  use  of  prayers  either 
for  rain  or  for  the  cessation  of  it,  by  people  who 
would  laugh  at  the  idea  of  reducing  their  butcher's 
bill  by  praying  that  the  weight  of  their  meat  might 
be  doubled  as  soon  as  they  had  bought  it.  That  is 
to  say,  most  people  forty  years  ago,  and  many  people 
even  to-day,  managed  and  manage  to  think  that  such 
things  as  winds,  and  clouds  and  water,  are  somehow 
unhooked  from  the  general  chain  of  Causes,  and  can 
be  shifted  about,  and  interfered  with  in  some  mys- 
terious way,  in  which  they  admit  that  a  pound  of 


A   Night's   Waking  289 

beef-steak  cannot.  Their  mood  of  mind  with  respect 
to  the  change  of  the  weather,  is  precisely  the  mood 
of  mind  —  it  is  also  the  only  mood  of  mind  —  which 
makes  it  possible  for  us  to  believe  in  the  existence  of 
free  will;  or  in  other  words,  in  the  existence  of  a 
kind  of  action  which  is  not  determined  ultimately  by 
causes  outside  the  agent.  Well  —  just  as  science, 
all  the  world  over,  has  made  educated  people  realize 
that  the  weather  at  any  moment  depends  on  antece- 
dent causes  just  as  exactly  and  inevitably  as  does  the 
position,  at  any  moment,  of  any  planet  in  the  solar 
system,  so  at  last  is  it  coming  to  make  us  realize 
precisely  the  same  thing  with  regard  to  human  life. 
Every  thought,  every  feeling,  every  desire,  every 
weighing  of  right  and  wrong,  every  unconscious  im- 
pulse, every  conscious  act  of  will,  which  exists  or 
takes  place  at  any  moment  in  the  mind  of  one  of 
ourselves,  is  as  truly  the  precise,  and  the  only  pos- 
sible result,  of  the  things  that  have  gone  before  it, 
and  the  laws  that  govern  the  Universe,  as  the  present 
position  of  the  moon  is,  whose  beauty  we  are  now  en- 
joying, or  the  plunge  of  these  waves,  in  each  of  which 
is  the  impulse  of  the  whole  Atlantic." 

"  Your  general  argument,"  said  Mr.  Hancock, 
"  comes,  I  take  it,  to  this  —  that,  for  practical 
purposes,  the  final  proof  of  a  thing  consists  in  a  con- 
quest which  truths,  by  being  constantly  forced  on  our 
notice,  at  last  make  of  the  imagination.  When  that 
conquest  is  made,  we  not  only  admit  intellectually 
that  such  and  such  a  thing  is  true,  but  we  cease  to  be 
able  to  think  anything  else  possible.  That 's  the 
reason  why  freedom,  as  I  was  telling  the  Bishop  the 
other  day,  has  now  to  be  taken  as  a  mere  necessary 


290        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

working  hypothesis.  Theoretically  the  educated 
mind  can  no  longer  conceive  it.  It  becomes  a  mere 
bit  of  nonsense,  as  blunt  old  Hobbes  called  it.  I  was 
thinking,  do  you  know,  just  now,  while  you  were 
talking,  that  this  idea  of  an  odd  little  mannikin  of  a 
free  self  inside  us,  who  controls  and  originates  our 
movements,  is  exactly  of  a  piece  with  the  odd  little 
mannikin  of  a  spirit  by  whose  free  activity  a  savage 
explains  the  rain,  or  the  flowing  of  a  particular  brook. 
Yes  —  yes  —  In  our  worship  of  the  fetish  of  free- 
will we  were  till  very  lately  nearly  all  of  us  savages." 
"  I  see  Mr.  Seaton,"  said  Glanville,  "  looking  un- 
utterable things  at  me.  I  can't  resist  that  look  of 
his;  and  so  I  must,  though  perhaps  it  is  unneces- 
sary, make  one  final  dart  into  the  heart  of  his  own 
country.  I  'm  sure,  Alistair,  you  're  thinking  that 
all  our  talk  about  determinism  applies  only  to  such 
arguments  as  can  be  clothed  in  the  forms  of  science. 
But  it  does  n't.  The  perception  which  science  has 
forced  on  us  of  the  unthinkable  character  of  freedom, 
penetrates  into  the  heart  of  even  the  most  abstract 
reasoning,  and  shows  us  that  the  most  absolute  form 
of  idealism  offers  us  no  escape  from  it.  Absolute 
idealism  can  certainly  go  no  farther  than  making 
the  material  Universe  a  duet  between  two  minds. 
But  the  Universe,  you  admit,  still  retains  its  uni- 
formity; and  one  of  the  conditions  of  its  uniformity 
must  be  a  uniformity  of  these  minds  themselves. 
Now  even  if  we  grant  that  the  uniformity  of  so-called 
matter  depends,  so  far  as  we  are  concerned,  on  the 
nature  of  the  mind  of  man,  the  uniformity  of  our 
mental  selves,  whatever  its  origin  may  be,  is  cer- 
tainly not  due  to  any  conscious  acts  of  our  own.     We 


A    Night's   Waking  291 

did  not  consciously,  therefore  we  did  not  freely  de- 
sire that  the  earth  should  move  round  the  sun;  for 
till  two  or  three  centuries  ago,  we  did  not  know  that 
it  did  so.  Our  minds  are  mechanisms  which  we  are 
no  more  able  to  alter  than  a  watch  is  able  to  alter  the 
arrangement  of  its  own  wheels,  and  all  that  idealism 
give  us  in  exchange  for  an  external  necessity,  is  a 
travelling  and  portable  necessity  which  we  carry  with 
us  in  our  own  natures." 

"  May  I,"  said  Miss  Leighton,  "  make  one  more 
reference  to  Spinoza,  if  you  won  yt  think  me  very 
unfeminine  for  fancying  I  understand  bits  of  him. 
He  says  that  '  the  order  and  connection  of  our  ideas 
is  the  order  and  connection  of  things.'  His  meaning 
I  suppose  to  be  that  our  minds  are  like  pats  of  but- 
ter, the  Universe  being  the  mould  into  which  they 
are  all  pressed ;  and  that  this  accounts  for  the  fact 
that  they  work  in  the  same  way.  I  suppose  Mr. 
Glanville  to  mean  that,  if  it 's  the  other  way  on  —  if 
our  minds  are  the  moulds,  and  the  Universe  is  the 
pat  of  butter,  and  if  the  Universe  is  the  same  for  all 
of  us  because  the  moulds  are  of  one  pattern,  the  pat- 
tern-maker, who  was  not  ourselves,  holds  us  as  much 
in  his  grip,  as  the  Universe-maker  would  do,  were 
the  state  of  things  reversed." 

"  I  wish,"  said  Lord  Kestormel,  "  that  our  phi- 
losophers would  run  their  minds  into  the  mould  of 
yours ;  though  if  you  encouraged  them  to  do  so,  I 
should  poison  them  all  from  jealousy." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  I  suppose  I  may  now 
announce  that  the  question  of  freedom  is  settled. 
Science  has  taken  the  matter  out  of  the  hands  of  phi- 
losophy, and  has  shown  us  that  in  spite  of  philosophy, 


292        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

freedom  does  not  exist.  Whatever  the  individual 
does,  he  does  in  virtue  of  conditions  which  come  from 
outside  himself,  and  of  most  of  which  he  is  generally 
not  even  aware." 

"  I  must,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  before  you  go 
further,  be  permitted  to  make  a  very  humble  com- 
ment of  my  own.  What  you  say,  is  no  doubt  all  per- 
fectly logical ;  but  our  convictions  are  generally  less 
logical  than  our  arguments;  and  your  arguments, 
my  dear  Mr.  Glanville,  seem  to  take  away  so  much 
that  they  irritate  me  into  questioning  their  right  to 
take  away  anything.  To  a  poor  commonplace  preju- 
diced woman  like  myself  they  would  be  more  con- 
vincing if  only  they  were  less  complete.  It  seems  to 
me  that  they  not  only  take  our  wills  away  from  us, 
and  our  souls  away  from  us,  and  our  heaven  away 
from  us,  but  our  very  identity  as  well.  Now  per- 
haps," said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  I  ?ve  not  a  will  of  my 
own:  though  my  poor  dear  father  used  always  to 
maintain  the  contrary ;  and  perhaps  I  am  not  so  fa- 
vored as  to  be  destined  to  sing  psalms  in  heaven. 
Mr.  Glanville  may  rob  me  of  my  will.  He  may  rob 
me  of  my  hundredth  psalm ;  but  I  refuse  to  let  him 
or  anybody,  rob  me  of  my  own  identity." 

Glanville  laughed.  "  And  yet,"  he  said,  "  that 's 
exactly  what  science  does  —  at  least  if  we  use  iden- 
tity in  the  common  sense  of  the  word.  Lady  Snow- 
don, we  come  here  to  our  last  point  —  to  the  last  re- 
maining possession  of  ours;  and  it  too  disappears, 
like  the  others,  under  the  all-dissolving  touch.  You 
indeed  admit  yourself  that  it  is  almost  dissolved  al- 
ready. Its  freedom  is  gone ;  its  self-dependence  is 
gone;    but,  so  far  as  we  have  seen  already,  it  still 


A   Night's   Waking  293 

retains  its  unity.  As  Mr.  Hancock  said  the  other 
day  at  dinner,  even  this  is  dissolved  by  science  like 
sugar  in  a  cup  of  tea." 

"  Was  that  my  phsase  ?  "  said  Mr.  Hancock  mod- 
estly. "  Yes,  I  believe  it  was.  I  also  said  that  the 
unity  of  the  Ego  which  the  Bishop  of  Glastonbury 
found  so  comforting  —  and  Mr.  Seaton  also  —  is  no 
more  simple  and  indestructible  than  the  unity  of  a 
flower  or  a  steam-engine.  It  is  merely  —  I  think 
these  were  my  words  —  the  unity  of  a  co-ordinated 
organism." 

"  Well,"  said  Glanville,  "  you  go  on  with  the  story. 
You  '11  put  it  better  than  I  should." 

"  He  must  then,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  put  things 
in  shorter  words  for  us.  What  does  the  unity  of  the 
co-ordinated  organism  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  delighted  to  be  the 
chief  speaker,  "  something  very  fairly  simple.  It 
means  just  this  —  the  co-operation  of  a  number  of 
parts  in  producing  a  result  which,  in  some  sense,  is  a 
single  fact.  For  instance,  the  movement  or  power 
to  move,  of  a  locomotive  —  what  grand  machines 
those  new  ones  are  on  the  Great  Western  Railway ! 
—  is  a  single  fact  in  a  very  practical  sense.  It 
moves,  stops,  increases  and  slackens  its  speed  with 
as  much  unity  as  a  man  does :  but  it  is  made  up  of  a 
great  number  of  parts ;  and  if  we  were  to  take  it  bit 
by  bit  to  pieces,  we  should  at  first  cripple  its  power, 
and  at  last  destroy  it.  In  other  words,  the  engine, 
as  a  moving  unit,  is  the  sum  and  result  of  a  multi- 
tude of  parts  co-ordinated.  With  a  man's  personality 
the  case  is  just  the  same.  All  the  vital  parts  of  his 
organism  are  co-ordinated  parts  of  an  engine  whose 


294        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

functions  achieve  the  unity  which  we  call  the  con- 
scious self,  because  they  minister  and  lead  up  to  a 
special  tract  of  the  brain  —  a  central  organ  which 
has  for  its  function  consciousness.  But  if  we  take 
any  one  of  these  ministering  parts  away,  the  con- 
tent of  consciousness,  and  the  faculties  of  the  self  are 
demolished.  Inhibit  the  action  of  all,  and  the  con- 
scious self  vanishes." 

"  But  still,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  the  single  con- 
sciousness would  remain,  ready  to  be  itself  again,  if 
the  ministering  faculties  were  restored  to  it.  Noth- 
ing could  make  the  single  self  two  selves." 

"  Could  n't  it  %  "  said  Mr.  Hancock.  "  Could  n't 
it  ?  I  'm  interested  to  hear  you  say  that.  You 
think  that,  so  long  as  it  lasts,  the  self  is  a  single  thing, 
not  made  out  of  parts,  and  not  divisible  into  them. 
Let  me  get  at  what  I  'm  going  to  say,  by  a  round- 
about little  way  of  my  own.  Everyone  knows  that 
you  are  one  of  our  best  amateur  photographers.  May 
I  ask,  when  you  take  a  photograph,  how  many  lenses 
you  make  use  of  at  once  ?  " 

"  As  I  never,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  take  stereo- 
scopic views,  I  may  tell  you,  if  you  care  for  the  infor- 
mation, that  I  naturally  use  one.  Does  anybody  use 
half  a  dozen  ?  " 

"  Good,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  rubbing  his  hands, 
"  good.  You  use  what  you  would  call  one  lens :  but 
if  you  took  it  out  of  its  brass  mountings,  you  would 
find  that  your  one  lens  was  a  union  of  two  separate 
lenses,  or  perhaps  even  of  three ;  each  one  of  which, 
in  a  camera  of  sufficient  focal  length,  might  be  used 
separately.  Well,  precisely,  the  same  thing  is  true 
of  the  human  self.     Instead  of  being  an  indivisible 


A   Night's   Waking  295 

thing,  it  is  capable  of  being  taken  to  pieces,  so  that 
several  selves  shall  reveal  themselves  within  the 
same  skull.  I  should  dearly  have  liked  to  introduce 
you  to  some  very  good  friends  of  mine  —  French 
doctors,  Viennese  doctors,  and  others.  They  could 
have  shown  you  —  last  March  they  showed  me  — 
cases  that  would  take  your  breath  away.  They  could 
have  shown  you  men  and  women  whose  personality 
was  so  divided,  that  in  the  single  organism  lived  two, 
three,  four,  or  even  more,  separate  lives  in  alterna- 
tion ;  the  self  of  each  life  having  its  private  memory, 
and  its  special  and  distinctive  character.  If  any 
doubting  Thomas  wants  a  proof  that  the  self  is  di- 
visible here  is  a  proof  ready  for  him.  He  can  see  it 
divided  before  his  eyes.  And  now,"  said  Mr.  Han- 
cock, clapping  his  hands  together,  "  I  '11  say  no  more 
on  my  own  account,  and  will  call  upon  Mr.  Glanville, 
to  sum  up  the  conclusion  we  have  reached  in  the 
course  of  this  long  discussion." 

"  I  'm  afraid,"  said  Glanville,  "  it  is  not  a  particu- 
larly cheering  one.  We  began  with  considering  the 
qualifications  which  all  theistic  religion  —  no  matter 
what  its  form  —  must  impute  to  man  in  order  to  ren- 
der him  capable  of  any  personal  relationship,  of  a 
moral,  an  important,  or  even  intelligible  kind,  with 
the  great  Cause  or  Force  which  is  in,  or  behind,  the 
Universe.  We  saw  that  man,  since  his  body  is  ob- 
viously perishable,  must  be  in  his  essence,  a  some- 
thing that  neither  rises  with  the  body  nor  rots  with 
it;  that  this  something  must  be  self-determining, 
and  the  source  of  its  own  energy,  and  that  the  sense 
of  right  and  wrong  which  man  undoubtedly  possesses, 
must  be   inexplicable   except   as  mystical   impress 


296        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

made  on  him  by  some  principle  of  cosmic  goodness, 
of  which   it  is   thus  the  mirror  and  the   witness. 
Well  —  we  have  taken  this  conception  of  man,  which 
forms  the  basis  of  Theism  and  examined  it  by  the 
light  which  science  is  now  throwing  on  all  things; 
and  bit  by  bit  we  have  seen  the  theistic  man  dissolve 
—  reduced,  as  Mr.  Hancock  said,  to  a  superstition 
of  savages  who  would  give  a  private  spirit  to  every 
little  whirl-pool  in  the  Thames.     We  saw  that  his 
bodily  life  had  the  single  cell  for  its  father,  and  the 
atom  of  common  matter,  once  thought  dead,  for  its 
grandfather.      We   saw  that   his  consciousness,   as 
bodily  life  developed  itself,  rose  out  of  the  uncon- 
scious, and  brought  along  with  it  his  desires  and  in- 
nate ideas,  as  the  slowly  silted  deposit  of  billions  of 
years  of  living.     We  saw  that  his  conscience  came 
also  to  him  in  the  same  way,  and  instead  of  reflecting 
any  goodness  which  mysteriously  pervades  the  heav- 
ens, merely  represents  the  experience  of  a  gregarious 
species  on  earth.     We  saw  that  being  thus  altogether 
the  creature  of  transmitted  forces,  the  very  idea  that 
man's  will  is  free  —  that  he  is  the  author  of  his  own 
actions  —  becomes  as  much  of  an  absurdity  as  the 
ideas  that  an  eddy  in  a  river,  instead  of  being  formed 
by  the  river,  forms  and  directs  itself :  and  finally  we 
saw  something,  which  is  merely  what  we  have  seen 
already  briefly  presented  again  to  us  in  an  epigram- 
matic form.     We  saw  that  his  indivisible  self  was 
as  much  an  illusion  as  his  freedom.     We  saw  that 
this  self  is  merely  a  point  of  light  nucleated  in  a 
travelling  bubble,  which  is  formed  out  of,  and  is 
drifting  on  a  sea ;  which  may  at  a  touch  divide  itself 
into  a  cluster  of  bubbles,  or  out  of  a  cluster  become 


A   Night's   Waking  297 

one ;  and  which  —  I  suppose  I  need  hardly  add  this 
—  bursts  at  last,  never  to  be  formed  again.  In 
fact,"  said  Glanville,  slightly  changing  his  tone,  "  we 
have  watched  the  theistic  man  disappear  like  a  burn- 
ing candle.  First  his  immortality  disappears ;  then 
his  God's  voice  in  his  conscience ;  then  his  power  of 
directing  his  own  actions ;  and  then  at  last,  his  very 
identity  breaks  to  pieces,  like  the  socket  of  a  glass 
candlestick  into  which  a  candle  has  burnt,  and  whose 
fragments  clink  as  they  fall  on  a  marble  table. 
What  can  Theism  mean  for  a  poor  creature  like  this  ? 
If  it  means  that  he  is  a  part  of,  and  therefore  de- 
pends on,  the  Universe,  it  is  a  platitude.  If  it 
means  that  he  can  alter  the  nature  of  his  dependence, 
it  is  an  ineptitude.  He  cannot  alter  it  in  the  first 
place;  and  if  he  could,  the  alteration  would  mean 
nothing.  He,  and  his  race  likewise,  will  one  day 
go  the  way  of  the  mammoth,  and  the  mastodon,  and 
the  lost  continents ;  and  what  he  does  with  himself 
is  a  matter  of  no  more  moment  than  his  tempera- 
ment, during  the  space  of  its  endurance,  may  com- 
pel his  consciousness  to  impute  to  it.  He  is  like  a 
sailor  abandoned  in  a  boat,  in  the  middle  of  a  shoreless 
ocean ;  and  he  can  no  more  reach  the  Cosmos,  or  any 
principle  behind  it,  than  such  a  sailor  could  save  him- 
self by  reaching  the  shores  of  Sirius.  What  incon- 
ceivable nonsense,  in  the  face  of  facts  like  these,  be- 
comes that  passage  which  I  read  you  by  our  confident 
sanguine  theist.  This  satisfied  individual  goes 
mincing  into  the  Temple  of  Science,  making  superior 
faces  at  the  Christians  who  are  entering  the  church 
opposite,  and  is  prepared  to  join  in  some  new  and 
superior  divine  service.     Over  the  door  of  the  Tern- 


298        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

pie  is  an  inscription  which  our  theist  gaily  assumes 
to  be  something  equivalent  to  ad  majorem  dei 
gloriam.  Had  our  theist  stopped  to  examine  it,  the 
inscription  would  have  been  proved  to  be  —  what  to 
all  religion  is  the  sole  scientific  message  — '  Aban- 
don ye  all  hope  who  enter  here.'  "  z 

A  pause  followed,  which  was,  however,  shortly 
broken  by  Mr.  Hancock,  who  began  a  few  alert 
"  hems,"  as  though  he  was  anxious  to  declare  the 
Conference  ended :  but  before  he  could  do  so,  Seaton 
begged  that  he  might  be  heard  once  more. 

"  I  have  listened,"  he  said,  "  to  all  this  carefully, 
and  I  do  n5t  pooh-pooh  it.  But  there  are  two  things 
that  I  wish  to  urge.  One  I  had  better  keep  for  some 
future  occasion:  but  the  other,  which  is  simple,  I 
should  like  to  put  to  you  now.  Even  if  we  accept 
man  as  the  product  of  an  unbroken  process  which  we 
can,  under  the  form  of  matter,  turn  back  to  atoms 
and  electrons,  still,  my  dear  Kupert,  whatever  is 
actual  in  man,  such  as  thought,  feeling,  conscience 
and  so  forth,  must  have  existed  in  your  electrons 
potentially.  Moreover  when  you  get  to  your  elec- 
trons, and  you  give  them  to  us  as  the  germs  of 
thought,  instead  of  explaining  a  mystery  through  a 
simple  thing,  you  are  merely  explaining  it  through 
something  more  mysterious  still." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Seaton,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon. 
"  That 's  just  what  I  We  been  feeling  all  the  time." 

"  What  you  say,  Alistair,"  said  Glanville,  "  is  per- 
fectly, indeed  it  is  obviously  true.  In  one  sense 
science,  instead  of  explaining  anything,  merely 
conducts  us  into  deeper  depths  of  the  inexplicable. 
It  can  merely  bring  us  to  the  main-spring  which 


A    Night's   Waking  299 

makes  the  watch  go,  and  of  that  it  can  tell  us  nothing. 
But  the  main-spring,  being  given,  what  it  does  show 
us  is  that  the  movements  made  by  the  last  wheel  of 
the  watch,  result  and  can  never  be  dissociated  from 
those  made  by  the  first.  It  can  also  show  us  a  good 
deal  more  than  this.  It  can' t  show  us  how  the 
movements  of  the  electrons  in  an  atom  can  transform 
themselves  into  conscious  thought,  let  atoms  combine 
themselves  as  they  may ;  but  it  can  give  us  an  analogy 
which  will  make  the  transformation  conceivable. 
There  are  certain  substances,  technically  called 
isomeres,  which  are  widely  different  in  character, 
but  which  analysis  reduces  to  exactly  the  same  ele- 
ments, combined  in  the  same  proportion.  Starch, 
for  example,  in  analysis,  is  the  same  fching  as  cotton ; 
cheese  is  the  same  thing  as  lean  beef.  The  differ- 
ence between  the  substances  is  due  to  the  manner  in 
which  their  several  elements  group  themselves. 
This  will  show  you  how  differences  can  result  from 
atomic  sameness.  But  a  better  illustration,  per- 
haps, will  be  one  even  more  familiar.  How  can 
thought  arise  as  a  consequence  of  atomic  movement  ? 
How  can  whiskey,  which  intoxicates,  arise  from 
water  and  barley?  The  intoxicating  property  of 
the  whiskey  was  latent  in  these  symbols  of  temper- 
ance ;  but  it  was  not  latent  in  a  form  remotely  re- 
sembling alcohol.  In  the  same  way  all  modern  men 
of  science,  as  Mr.  Cosmo  Brock  would  tell  you,  recog- 
nize that  the  substance  of  the  Universe  contains  all 
the  elements  out  of  which  human  thought  springs, 
but  contains  them  in  a  form  so  different  from  this 
thought,  that  our  knowledge  of  our  own  thought 


300        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

gives  us  no  more  clue  to  its  nature  than  a  glass  of 
whiskey  would  give  us  to  the  nature  of  barley.' ' 

"  There  may  be  something  in  what  you  say,"  re- 
plied Seaton.  "  Indeed  the  idea  you  suggest  is  not 
unlike  that  of  Schelling,  who  in  some  ways  was 
Hegel's  master.  But  the  objection  I  raised  just  now 
was  not  my  principal  criticism.  That,  I  fear,  I 
must  keep  for  a  more  convenient  season." 

"  Well,"  said  Glanville,  "  I  believe  it  is  getting 
late ;  so  I  suppose  you  must.  I  will,  therefore,  Han- 
cock, in  order  to  save  time,  take  the  word  out  of  your 
mouth,  and  declare  this  Conference  ended.  I  '11  only 
do  one  thing  more.  Religious  services  generally 
end  with  a  hymn.  I  'm  going  to  suggest  that  we  end 
with  a  hymn  to-night.  It 's  a  hymn  written  by  my 
inspired  friend,  Lord  Restormel;  who,  years  ago, 
when  he  and  I  were  at  Berlin  together,  used  to  sit 
in  a  purple  and  gold  smoking  suit,  and  read  Schelling 
far  into  the  night." 

"  A  hymn  by  me !  "  exclaimed  Lord  Restormel. 
"  My  dear  Rupert,  you  're  dreaming." 

"  No,"  said  Glanville,  "  though  you  may  have  been 
when  you  composed  it.  You  were  lying,  wrapped 
up  in  a  magnificent  fur  coat,  when  you  and  I,  by 
moonlight,  were  sailing  in  a  boat  on  the  Hellespont : 
and  the  words  were  supposed  to  be  spoken  not  by  a 
congregation  to  the  Deity,  but  by  the  Universe  to  the 
souls  of  men.  Let  us  have  it.  Do  n't  be  modest. 
I  '11  start  you  with  the  first  line : 

'  Souls  of  myself,  which  are  I,  as  the  stars  in  their  shin- 
ing places.' " 


A    Night's    Waking  301 

Lord  Restormel  raised  himself  in  his  chair,  not 
wholly  displeased  by  this  appeal.  He  took  a  large 
cigar  from  his  mouth,  and,  encouraged  by  the  solici- 
tations of  the  party,  recited  the  following  lines  slowly 
in  a  melodious  voice : 

"  Souls  of  myself,  which  are  I,  as  the  stars  in  their  shining 
places 
Gaze  with  their  thousand  eyes  all  night  long  on  the  sea ; 
As  the  mirrored  bride,  on  the  bride  from  the  depths  of 
the  mirror  gazes, 
Saying  with  silent  lips,  Beloved  of  his  heart,  thou  art 
she: 
As  the  eyes  of  the  bridegroom  look  down  on  the  eyes  of 
the  bride  he  embraces, 
When  his  blood  is  as  one  with  hers,  and  her  soul  is  he ; 
So,  of  souls  of  myself,  which  are  mine,  from  your  myriad 
faces, 
I,  oh  soul  of  you  all — I  gaze  on  me." 


CHAPTER    V 

LORD  RESTORMEL  was  still  lingering  over  the 
final  phrase  of  his  poem,  when  the  chimes  of  a 
stable  clock  mixed  their  notes  with  his  syllables. 
Several  voices  exclaimed  at  the  unexpected  lateness 
of  the  hour ;  but  as  no  one  seemed  anxious  to  retire, 
the  night  being  still  hot,  Glanville  went  into  the 
house  to  give  some  directions  to  his  butler,  whose 
form,  like  a  statue  of  reproach,  was  hesitating  at  the 
drawing-room  window. 

"  Your  verses,"  said  Lady  Snowdon  to  Lord  Res- 
tormel,  "  were  charming  in  point  of  music ;  but  they 
did  n't,  my  dear  friend,  strike  me  as  exactly  comfort- 
ing." 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon  —  "  Our  poet  must  n't 
be  affronted ;  but  I  'd  sooner  fall  asleep  to  the  echoes 
of  '  Lead,  Kindly  Light.'  " 

"  You  ?re  a  sensible  woman,"  said  Lord  Restormel. 
"  Most  people  would  agree  with  you.  Ah,  Rupert, 
what  have  you  got  there  ?  " 

"  I  'm  going,"  said  Glanville,  who  had  returned 
with  a  book  and  a  lighted  candle,  "  to  give  you  one 
more  reading.  This  book  is  the  Philosophy  of  Re- 
ligion, by  Sabatier,  the  great  French  Protestant. 
Perhaps  some  of  you  may  think  that  the  conclusions 
which  we  reached  just  now,  are  merely  conclusions 
reached  in  a  kind  of  intellectual  nightmare,  and  that 
to-morrow  we  shall  wake  and  laugh  at  them.     They 

302 


A   Night's   Waking  303 

have  stood  in  my  own  case  the  test  of  many  to-mor- 
rows, and  Sabatier  will  show  you  that  they  are  some- 
thing more  than  dreams.  Listen  how  this  earnest 
divine  describes  the  pass  we  have  come  to.  '  Our 
age,'  he  says,  i  has  driven  abreast  the  two-fold  wor- 
ship of  the  moral  ideal  and  the  scientific  method; 
but  so  far  from  being  able  to  unite  them,  it  has 
pushed  them  to  a  point  where  they  seem  to  contra- 
dict and  exclude  each  other.  Science/  he  goes  on, 
repeating  our  own  argument,  '  has  woven  over  every- 
thing its  casual  and  necessary  net-work/  and  the  re- 
sult is  a  '  tragic  contradiction  between  physical  law 
and  moral.  Here,'  he  says,  i  we  have  the  origin  of 
that  strange  mal  du  siecle  —  a  sort  of  internal  con- 
sumption —  by  which  all  cultivated  minds  are  more 
or  less  affected.  The  more  we  reflect  on  the  rea- 
sons that  may  be  urged  in  favor  of  living  and  acting, 
the  less  capable  we  are  of  effort  and  action.  Must 
we  then  give  up  thinking,  if  we  would  retain  the 
courage  to  live,  or  resign  ourselves  to  moral  death 
so  as  to  preserve  the  right  to  think  I ' 

"  But  surely,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  he  must  see 
some  escape  from  his  difficulties.  A  religious  man 
like  that  would  never  have  put  them  in  this  frank 
way,  if  he  did  n't." 

"  Mrs.  Vernon,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Brompton,  "  allow 
me  to  tell  you  one  thing.  You  evidently  see  to  the 
very  bottom  of  the  clerical  nature." 

"  His  method  of  escape,"  said  Glanville,  "  as  I  '11 
show  you  one  of  these  days,  is  merely  to  end  in  ignor- 
ing what  he  sets  out  with  asserting.  I  shall,  I  think, 
be  able  to  do  better  myself ;  but  it  's  too  late  to  be 
planning  escapes  to-night." 


304        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

"  Is  it  ?  "  said  Seaton.  "  If  we  're  really  not  go- 
ing to  bed  directly  —  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Alistair,"  said  Glanville,  putting 
a  hand  on  his  shoulder,  "  if  we  're  not  going  to  bed 
directly  —  Well,  I  do  n't  think  we  are." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Seaton,  "  if  you  would  all  lis- 
ten to  me  once  more  —  though  you  think  me,  I  know, 
a  mere  dweller  among  my  own  clouds  —  I  could  show 
you  a  rift  in  yours,  which  would  still  let  the  sun 
through  on  you.  I  told  you  I  'd  something  to  say, 
beyond  anything  that  I  've  said  yet." 

"  Do,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  tell  us.  Send  us  to 
bed  with  something  to  cheer  us  up." 

"  I  will  then,"  said  Seaton,  somewhat  to  the  sur- 
prise of  everybody,  "accept,  for  argument's  sake, 
the  whole  of  your  scientific  gospel,  with  its  atoms, 
and  its  electrons,  and  what  not ;  and  I  '11  suppose 
that  the  individual  mind,  instead  of  preceding  the 
Universe,  is  developed  from  it  by  some  process  of 
evolution,  precisely  as  your  science  declares  it  to  be ; 
and  yet  I  will  show  you  that,  even  on  this  hypothesis, 
philosophy  can  break  open  your  prison  for  you  with 
the  very  tools  of  science  itself." 

"  What  on  earth,"  muttered  Mr.  Hancock,  "  can 
our  gentleman  be  up  to  now  ?  " 

"Mr.  Glanville,"  continued  Seaton,  "expressed, 
not  long  ago,  a  very  profound,  but  a  little  realized 
truth.  He  said  that  no  speculative  discovery  bears 
its  Ml  practical  fruit  till  it  has  conquered  the  im- 
agination, besides  convincing  the  intellect.  This  ap- 
plies to  philosophic,  as  much  as  to  scientific  discov- 
eries. The  end  and  the  result  of  philosophy  is  to 
discover,  and  grasp  with  the  intellect,  the  nature  of 


A   Night's   Waking  305 

the  relation  of  the  Absolute  Mind  to  the  human.  To 
make  this  discovery,  as  Hegel  admitted,  is  difficult ; 
but  when  once  the  imagination  grasps  what  phi- 
losophy has  rendered  indubitable  —  I  mean,  that  the 
Absolute  Mind,  and  the  human  mind  are  akin  —  the 
speculative  comprehension  of  this  is  transformed  into 
the  religious  passion  of  the  human  soul  which  longs 
for  a  personal  union  with  the  divine.  Did  any  of 
you  here  ever  look  into  Nietzsche  ?  " 

"  I  have,"  said  Glanville.  "  One  of  these  days  I 
shall  quote  him  to  you." 

"  Well,"  said  Seaton,  "  though  he  is  n't  a  sound 
philosopher,  nobody  shows  more  clearly  than  he  does 
what  the  impulse  of  the  philosopher  is,  when  it  takes 
the  form  of  religion.  His  own  master  passion,  he 
says,  is  the  desire  for  speculative  truth,  which  he 
prizes  more  highly  than  any  other  delight,  and  which 
shall  carry  him  where  it  will  — i  over  the  sea  —  any- 
where —  even,'  he  adds,  '  should  it  only  carry  him 
there  where  the  shining  suns  of  humanity  have 
hitherto  always  perished.'  " 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Lord  Restormel,  "  that 's 
very  finely  put." 

"  There,"  said  Seaton,  "  is  an  example  of  phi- 
losophy transformed  into  religion.  The  philosopher 
himself  would  explain  the  religious  phenomena  by 
saying  that  it  represented  the  affinity  of  the  indi- 
vidual mind  for  the  Universal.  Now  how  would 
science  explain  it  ?  In  a  way  precisely  parallel.  It 
would  say,  in  the  language  of  physics,  that  the  mind, 
which  is  merely  another  aspect  of  the  brain,  exhibits, 
when  thus  affected,  a  molecular  or  chemical  affinity 


306        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

for  the  one  cosmic  substance  which  it  springs  from, 
of  which  it  forms  a  part." 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  said  Glanville,  "  on  the 
quickness  with  which  you  pick  up  our  language. 
Haeckel  himself  might  agree  with  what  you  have 
just  said." 

"  And  now,"  continued  Seaton,  "  I  'in  going  on  to 
a  fact,  which  has  lately  been  treated  at  length  by  the 
best  known  psychologist  in  America.  I  mean  Pro- 
fessor Janes  —  whose  Varieties  of  Religious  Ex- 
periences I  found  before  luncheon  in  the  library 
here.  Well  —  as  Professor  Janes  very  rightly 
points  out,  the  purely  religious  impulse  reaches  its 
fullest  development  in  a  mental  state  which  tran- 
scends the  intellect  altogether,  and  is  commonly 
called  ecstasy." 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  dragging  his 
chair  forward,  "  but  will  you  allow  me  to  ask  you 
what  you  mean  by  the  word  ecstasy  ?  Do  you  mean 
the  queer  kind  of  seizure  which  revivalists  call  con- 
version ?  For,  let  me  beg  leave  to  tell  you,  that  this 
and  all  kindred  crises  are  purely  physical  distur- 
bances —  disturbances  of  the  nerves  and  brain." 

"  That,"  said  Seaton,  "  is  the  very  thing  I  'm  ad- 
mitting. But  come,  Mr.  Hancock,  I  did  n't  expect 
such  an  objection  from  you.  You  are  one  of  those 
who  believe  that  every  mind-fact  —  not  ecstasy  alone 
—  is  a  brain-fact;  but  you  must  not  forget  that 
every  brain-fact,  in  that  case,  is  also  a  mind-fact; 
and  unless  you  deny  to  the  mind  all  insight  whatso- 
ever, you  do  nothing  to  rob  ecstasy  of  its  value  as  a 
state  of  clairvoyance  by  merely  insisting  that  a  brain- 
state  of  some  special  kind  is  at  the  bottom  of  it." 


A    Night's   Waking  307 

"  I  think,  Hancock,"  said  Glanville,  "  our  phi- 
losopher had  you  there." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Hancock,"  said  Seaton,  "  to  go  back 
to  your  own  question,  I  should  certainly  class  conver- 
sion as  one  variety  of  ecstasy.  The  ecstasies  of  the 
great  saints  of  the  Koman  Church,  of  the  Indian 
ascetics,  and  the  Platonic  philosophers  of  Alexan- 
dria, are  other  varieties  of  what  is  essentially  the 
same  thing." 

"  Oh,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  apparently  much  re- 
lieved, "  then  you  do  n't  adduce  the  contortions  of  an 
epileptic  cobbler  as  proving  the  truth  of  the  doctrines 
of  half-educated  evangelical  fanatics  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  said  Seaton.  "  Nothing  of  the  kind, 
of  course  not.  So  far  as  doctrines  go,  the  ecstatics 
of  each  creed  equally  see  in  their  ecstasies  their  own 
doctrines  glorified.  Ecstasy  establishes  nothing 
which  in  any  religion  is  peculiar.  But  this  singular 
experience  —  this  mental  and  cerebral  crisis  — 
which  we  come  across  amongst  men  and  women  of 
all  creeds,  races,  and  classes,  does  attest  and  estab- 
lish—  this  is  what  I  want  to  urge  on  you  —  the 
reality  of  that  which  you  have  admitted  to  be  the  es- 
sence of  all  religion.  I  mean  the  moral  affinity 
between  the  individual  mind  and  the  universal  —  or, 
if  we  like  to  put  it  so,  between  the  individual  man 
and  the  Universe,  and  the  possible  union  of  the  two 
in  some  conscious  supreme  act." 

Mr.  Brompton  groaned. 

"  We  find,"  Seaton  continued,  "  that  under  all 
their  sectarian  disguises  —  a  St.  Catherine  sees 
Christ,  a  Platonist  sees  Apollo  —  the  experience  of 
all  the  ecstasies,  all  the  so-called  converted,  is  iden- 


308        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

tical.  What  they  experience  is  a  sense  of  the  fusion, 
the  reconciliation,  of  the  personal  soul  with  the 
world-soul.  We  know  this  from  evidence  as  ample, 
and  as  clear,  as  anything  in  the  memoranda  of  any 
hypnotic  doctor ;  and  we  also  know  that  in  point  of 
exaltation  and  rapture,  no  other  kind  of  experience 
so  much  as  approaches  this  one.  Ecstasy,  I  should 
say  is  the  culminating  religious  act,  revealing  the 
world-soul  in  a  form  which  may  properly  be  called 
God  —  a  God  which  in  the  end  will  become  one  with 
each  of  us,  without  our  parting  its  garmente,  or  cast- 
ing lots  for  the  seamless  vesture.'7 

"According  to  you  then,"  said  Mr.  Hancock, 
whose  spirit  was  still  unsubdued,  "  we  ought,  instead 
of  going  about  our  practical  business,  or  giving  our- 
selves up  to  active  thought  and  study,  to  devote  all 
the  time  we  can  to  frequenting  revival  meetings,  or 
to  acquiring  the  art  of  self-hypnotism.  We  ought 
to  lie  in  consecrated  dens  smoking  religious  opium. 
If  we  'd  all  of  us  done  that  always,  we  should  be 
naked  savages  still." 

"  No,"  replied  Seaton.  "  I  did  n't  mean  that,  any 
more  than  a  Christian  would  mean  that  everybody 
should  devote  himself  to  the  care  of  the  poor.  If 
everybody  did  that,  we  should  make  poverty  uni- 
versal. But  the  experience  of  ecstasy,  though  suit- 
able for  the  few  only,  represents  the  mental  or 
spiritual  fruition,  to  which  all  the  higher  affections 
and  higher  activities  tend,  such  as  love,  poetry,  great 
action,  and  the  passion  for  nature.  It's  the  open 
top  to  the  chimney  which  alone  makes  a  draught  pos- 
sible." 

"  But,  my  dear  Mr.  Seaton,"  Mr.  Hancock  remon- 


A  Night's  Waking  309 

strated,  in  a  voice  which  showed  that  the  prospect  of 
ecstasies  had  very  little  charm  for  himself,  "  are 
you  at  all  aware  that  these  crises  to  which  you  —  and 
much  to  my  surprise,  Professor  Janes  also  —  attach 
so  much  importance,  are  capable  of  being  produced 
by  purely  mechanical  means?  The  revivalist  pro- 
duces them  by  dwelling  on  the  Day  of  Judgment, 
the  heat  of  the  eternal  fire-place,  the  sinfulness  of 
sin,  and  so  on ;  but  all  the  phenomena  of  conversion 
and  religious  ecstasy  can  be  produced  just  as  well, 
and  much  more  cheaply  and  easily,  by  making  the 
patient  inhale  nitrous  oxide  or  ether  diluted  with 
common  air.  If  you  can  give  us  salvation  by  gas, 
no  doubt  we  shall  all  be  your  debtors;  but  I  think 
I  should  protest  against  calling  gas  a  religion." 

"  Mr.  Hancock,"  said  Seaton,  "  will  you  let  me  tell 
you  this.  You  're  again  falling  into  sin.  You  Ve 
forgotten  that  this  gas,  of  which  I  ?m  shocked  to  hear 
you  speak  so  lightly,  is,  according  to  your  own  creed,  a 
mode  of  the  unknowable  mind-power ;  and  is,  when  it 
affects  the  brain,  merely  a  delicate  food  by  which  the 
mind  of  the  Universe  stimulates  the  mind  of  the  indi- 
vidual. A  mathematician  is  stupid  for  want  of  nour- 
ishment. His  brain  won't  act ;  his  figures  swim  be- 
fore him.  He  drinks  a  cup  of  beef-tea  and  solves 
some  intricate  problem.  Do  you  doubt  the  accuracy 
of  his  restored  mathematical  insight  because  what 
restored  it  was  a  soup  instead  of  a  sermon  ?  " 

"  Bravo,  Alistair,"  exclaimed  Glanville.  "  Han- 
cock, you  must  walk  warily.  Philosophy,  like  a  lion, 
is  waking  up  with  the  midnight.  And  now  let  me 
ask  Mr.  Seaton  if  his  message  is  finished;  for  I 
think  we  can  see  plainly  what  its  general  drift  is. 


310        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

It  means  that  even  if  we  are  nothing  but  vanishing 
eddies  in  the  Universe,  we  nevertheless,  when  our 
brains  are  in  certain  conditions,  realize  with  a  clear- 
ness, which  puts  doubt  out  of  the  question,  that  the 
sum  of  things  is  good  in  the  religious  sense  of  the 
word,  and  also  that  we  are  proved  by  experience  to 
be  capable  of  a  personal  union  with  it,  the  rapture 
of  which  is  beyond  our  hopes  and  words.  This  is,  I 
gather,  what  you  mean;  and  you  mean  that  this 
supreme  experience  has  a  sound  scientific  basis,  be- 
cause every  stage  of  it  may  be  shown  to  have  a  phys- 
ical fact  corresponding  to  it." 

"  So  far  as  wjiat  I  mean  can  be  expressed  in  terms 
of  science  you  could  n't,"  said  Seaton,  "  have  ex- 
pressed what  I  mean  better." 

Mrs.  Vernon  looked  at  Seaton  with  grave  appre- 
ciative eyes. 

"  Very  well  then,"  said  Glanville,  "  let  me  now 
make  my  own  criticisms.  And  first  I  shall  begin 
with  agreeing  with  you  thoroughly  as  to  one  point. 
I  mean  that  the  experiences  of  converted  persons, 
and  ecstatics,  are  by  no  means,  as  many  people  think 
they  are,  ordinary  foolish  fancies.  On  the  contrary 
they  result  from  a  specific,  and  highly  peculiar  brain- 
state.  Ecstasy  is  a  fact  as  specific  as  delirium  tre- 
mens. The  ecstatic  sees  his  vision  of  divine  things 
no  less  truly  than  the  drunkard  sees  snakes  in  his 
boots." 

Mrs.  Vernon  uttered  an  involuntary  protesting 
"  Oh." 

"  Now  the  question  for  us  to-night,"  Glanville 
went  on,  "  is  this.  Does  the  ecstatic  vision  really 
succeed  in  giving  us  the  elements  which,  as  we  have 


A    Night's   Waking  311 

seen,  are  essential  to  any  form  of  Theism  ?  In  the 
first  place  does  the  vision  correspond  with  any  ex- 
ternal reality  ?  In  the  second  place,  if  it  does,  does 
this  external  something  correspond  in  any  way  with 
what  we  mean  by  moral  goodness  ?  And  is  it,  in  the 
third  place,  of  any  very  vital  importance  to  us 
whether  or  no  we  cultivate  the  moods  of  mind  which 
either  culminate  in  such  a  vision,  or  are  in  harmony 
with  it  ?  Now  the  first  thing,  my  dear  Alistair, 
which  I  want  to  point  out  is  this.  There  can  be 
nothing  in  these  visions  of  the  ecstatics  to  distinguish 
them  from  those  of  the  drunkard,  unless  it  be  the 
fact  that  they  help  us,  when  we  wake  up  from  them, 
to  discover  that  goodness  of  the  Universe  towards 
the  individual  soul,  which  without  their  aid,  we  fail 
to  find  any  trace  of.  But  do  they,  as  a  fact,  do  so  ? 
It  is  notorious  that  they  do  nothing  of  the  kind. 
Saint  Ignatius  declared  that,  in  ecstasy,  he  once 
1  distinctly  saw  the  plan  of  the  divine  wisdom  in  the 
creation  of  the  whole  world.'  But  he,  no  better  than 
St.  Augustine,  or  any  less  favored  theologian,  was 
able  to  explain  in  terms  of  the  waking  intellect,  how 
sin  could  arise  in  lives  created  by  a  perfect  God. 
His  waking  work  was  to  give  us  the  Jesuit  Order, 
which  had  to  put  up  intellectually  with  the  guidance 
of  Aristotle's  philosophy,  and  which  could  see  no  far- 
ther into  a  brick  wall  than  we  can.  Indeed  it  is  the 
peculiar  feature  of  all  this  ecstatic  knowledge  that 
nothing  which  is  verifiable  —  nothing  which  is  even 
intelligible  —  can  ever  be  brought  away.  The  Uni- 
verse remains  the  same  unilluminated  blank  for  us, 
which  not  only  fails  to  illustrate  what  the  ecstatic  has 
seen,  but  contradicts  it.     And  now  let  me  go  on  to 


312        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

my  next  point.  Even  if  we  waive  the  first,  and  as- 
sume that  the  ecstatic  vision  does  really  point  to  the 
existence  of  some  moral  element  in  the  Universe, 
we  must  ask  whether  its  morality  corresponds  with 
anything  which  waking  men  mean  by  the  word  mo- 
rality, and  whether  it  has  any  connection  with  a 
free  choice  by  ourselves  of  the  spiritual  or  God- 
ward  life.  Here  again  I  agree  with  you  in  one  of 
your  arguments.  The  fact  that  ecstasy  can  be  pro- 
duced by  inhaling  a  gas  does  nothing  to  rob  it  of  its 
claim  to  be  a  state  of  genuine  insight.  But  the  fact 
that  ecstasy  can  be  produced  by  inhaling  a  gas,  does 
show  one  thing  —  that  this  state  of  sublime  insight, 
this  flowing  of  the  religious  life,  this  rapturous  fore- 
taste of  the  final  reunion  with  the  divine,  is  entirely 
independent  of  anything  like  free-will  —  of  any  self- 
generated  effort  —  on  the  part  of  the  ecstatic  him- 
self. In  especial,  it  shows  us  that  this  state  has  no 
necessary  connection  with  anything  in  the  ecstatic 
which  the  theist  would  call  goodness.  The  nitrous 
oxide  is  no  respecter  of  persons.  The  ecstatic  is  the 
puppet  of  an  experience  under  which  he  is  just  as 
passive  as  the  holiday-makers  who  shout  for  excite- 
ment as  they  are  borne  along  a  switch-back  railway." 

"  Hear,  hear !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Brompton  with 
emphasis. 

"  And  if,"  continued  Glanville,  "  moral  goodness 
in  the  ecstatic  is  no  necessary  antecedent  to  his  con- 
sciousness of  a  union  with  some  vague  goodness  in 
the  Universe,  we  must  either  suppose  that  his  good- 
ness in  the  Universe  has  no  more  real  existence  than 
it  need  have  in  the  man  himself;  or  else  we  must 
suppose  that,  if  it  exists  at  all,  it  is  a  goodness  with 


A    Night's   Waking  313 

which  Theism  and  morality  have  nothing  whatever 
to  do.  And  this  last  supposition,  Alistair,  is  borne 
out  by  the  fact  that  the  goodness  which  your  Ecstatics 
are  aware  of  is  indescribable  in  human  language. 
In  other  words,  it  has  no  intelligible  connection  with 
ordinary  human  life,  and  with  ordinary  human 
standards.  And  now,"  Glanville  continued,  "  for 
my  third  point.  Is  it  possible  to  maintain,  on  any 
scientific  grounds,  that  it  is  a  matter  of  very  great 
moment  to  any  human  being  whether  he  enjoys  the 
rapture  of  the  ecstatic  vision  or  no?  Of  course 
you  're  aware  that  none  of  your  present  arguments 
have  even  suggested  the  persistence  of  the  individual 
life  after  death." 

"  Perfectly,"  Seaton  replied,  not  quite  without 
embarrassment.  "  But  although  I  hold,  as  a  neces- 
sary postulate  of  philosophy,  that  the  individual 
mind,  whilst  it  endures,  is  essentially  independent 
of  the  body,  philosophy  does  not  maintain  that  its 
separate  existence  is  permanent.  Philosophy,  on 
the  contrary,  rather  tends  to  the  conclusion,  that  the 
individual  mind,  when  the  body  has  ceased  to  isolate 
it,  goes  back  to,  and  is  lost  in  its  living  source." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Glanville,  "  for  helping  me  to 
finish  what  I  have  got  to  say.  The  fact  remains, 
that  this  singular  experience,  ecstasy,  is  highly  agree- 
able to  those  persons  who  experience  it.  They  en- 
joy in  the  course  of  their  lives  certain  moments  of 
rare  pleasure,  which  you  and  I  —  less  fortunate  — 
do  n't.  But  there,  for  them  and  for  us,  the  impor- 
tance of  the  matter  ends.  We  miss  the  enjoyment 
of  a  glass  or  two  of  spiritual  champagne,  which 
might  have  pleased  our  palates,  but  would  not  have 


314        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

altered  our  circumstances.  And  there  's  something 
to  add  more  pertinent  still  than  this.  The  ecstatic, 
according  to  you,  merely  enjoys  a  few  foretastes  of 
that  union  with  the  Absolute  Mind  which  you  and  I 
and  all  of  us  are,  when  our  bodies  dissolve,  bound  to 
enjoy  in  any  case.  How  are  we  worse  off,  if,  secure 
of  this  eternal  blessedness  we,  instead  of  trying  to 
taste  it  before  our  time,  turn  our  attention  to  blessed- 
ness of  other  kinds,  which,  if  we  do  n't  taste  it  now, 
we  never  shall  taste  at  all  ?  In  fact  the  most  favor- 
able way  in  which  I  can  put  your  meaning  is  this. 
The  ecstatic  is  like  a  lady  in  a  train  who  cranes  her 
neck  out  of  the  window  to  get  a  distant  glimpse  of  a 
watering-place  for  which  everybody  in  the  train  is 
bound ;  only  here  science  comes  in  with  its  incon- 
venient proofs  that  the  lady's  view  of  the  watering- 
place  tells  her  nothing  of  what  it  is  really  like ;  that 
all  the  passengers  will  reach  it  whether  they  get  the 
same  glimpse  or  no,  and  whether  their  behavior  on 
the  journey  is  good,  bad,  or  indifferent;  and  finally 
that,  by  the  time  they  arrive,  they  will  one  and  all 
be  unconscious." 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Glanville,"  said  Mr.  Brompton,  "  I  wish 
you  would  join  our  Church,  and  give  us  a  taste  of 
your  admirable  expositions  there." 

"  Mr.  Glanville,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  is  a  rather 
bewildering  person.  He  starts  with  insisting  that 
science  is  our  only  guide.  We  follow  him  in  his 
interpretation  of  science  as  Hamlet  followed  the 
ghost ;  and  now  he  ends  with  denouncing  the  best 
which  it  can  tell  us  as  nonsense." 

"  My  dear  Lady  Snowdon,"  said  Glanville.  "  You 
express  my  own  view  most  accurately.     Science  is  a 


A    Night's   Waking  315 

Saturn  which  devours  its  own  children.  It  dissolves 
everything  —  life,  love,  conscience,  thought,  will, 
into  a  host  of  simpler  elements,  which  for  us  mean 
nothing  except  that  they  are  for  ourselves  meaning- 
less. The  practical  question  then,"  he  continued, 
"  for  thinking  men  is  this.  How  in  the  universal 
vapor  of  forming  and  dissolving  things  shall  our 
minds  discover  a  rock  in  the  shape  of  some  firm  as- 
sertion, from  which  they  may  challenge  this  drift  of 
disappearing  appearances,  or  on  which  they  may 
raise  a  watch-tower  amidst  and  above  the  quick- 
sands." 

"  I,"  said  Mr.  Brompton,  "  will  show  you  the  rock 
to-morrow." 

"  And  so,"  said  Miss  Leighton  to  Lord  Kestormel, 
"  our  last  cup  of  comfort  is  dashed  from  us.  How 
cruel  of  Mr.  Glanville  to  break  it.  Poor  Mr.  Seaton. 
He  seems  in  a  forlorn  dream.  Why  will  philoso- 
phers wear  such  untidy  hair  ?  How  sultry  and  close 
it  is !     I  wish  we  could  sit  up  all  night." 

"  Eupert,"  exclaimed  Seaton,  "  I  was  wrong,  I  be- 
lieve, just  now  to  try  to  express  my  meaning  in  the 
meagre  language  of  science.  Let  me  say  just  one 
more  word.  You  contend  that  science  makes  re- 
ligion impossible  because  religion  implies  freedom 
and  science  denies  it.  Well  —  take  the  case  of 
love." 

Miss  Leighton  looked  up  at  the  speaker  with  an 
odd  amused  interest. 

"  Love,"  said  Seaton,  "  true  love  is  given  freely ; 
and  yet  the  best  thing  that  the  lover  can  say  to  the 
loved  is,  ( I  can 't  help  loving  you.'  " 


316        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

"  How  in  the  world,"  murmured  Miss  Leighton, 
"  could  Mr.  Seaton  have  discovered  that  ?  " 

"  Well/'  said  Seaton,  "  there  it  is.  There  's  the 
reconciliation  you  are  in  search  of.  The  supreme 
freedom  is  identical  with  the  supreme  necessity. 
There  is  Hegel's  secret." 

"  What  was  that  ? "  said  Mrs.  Vernon  in  a  tone 
of  alarm.  "  Did  you  feel  it?  It  was  a  drop  of 
rain." 

"  Yes,"  Seaton  was  meanwhile  continuing,  "  there 
is  Hegel's  discovery  —  the  great  truth  which  makes 
everything  clear  and  simple,  that  Being  and  Not- 
Being  are  the  same." 

"  Another,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  another.  Mr. 
Glanville,  I  shall  go  in  doors.  Here  it  comes  —  it 's 
a  down-pour.  However  little  I  am  to  believe,  I  in- 
sist on  not  getting  wet." 

These  words  were  a  signal  for  a  general  hurried 
movement.  Lord  Kestormel,  under  pretence  of  pro- 
tecting Miss  Leighton,  showed  a  distinct  tendency 
to  put  his  arm  round  her  waist.  The  young  lady, 
however,  was  equal  to  the  occasion,  and  gained  the 
house  neither  aided  nor  discomposed. 

"  What,  Alistair,"  said  Glanville,  "  are  you  hurry- 
ing too?  So  raining,  after  all,  is  not  the  same  as 
not-raining.  My  dear  fellow,  if  your  philosophy 
melts  in  the  first  thunder-shower,  it  will  never  con- 
vince us  that  being  damned  is  exactly  the  same  thing 
as  being  saved." 


BOOK  VI 
A  Toy-shop,  and  a  Blind  Alley 


CHAPTER   I 

<  '  T  HAD  such  bad  dreams  last  night,"  said  Mrs. 
«■»  Vernon  as  she  entered  the  breakfast-room. 
"  I  dreamed  three  times  that  the  Universe  was  an 
infinite  feather-bed,  and  that  I  was  dissolving 
into  it." 

Lord  Restormel  had  begun  his  repast  already.  It 
consisted  of  a  slice  of  toast,  a  tumbler  of  hock,  and 
grapes.  The  peculiarity  of  this  diet  was  to  him 
only  one  of  its  recommendations.  It  was  endeared 
to  him  both  by  its  picturesqueness,  which  was  emi- 
nently suitable  to  a  poet ;  and  by  its  lightness,  which 
was  grateful  to  a  student  who  generally  got  up  with 
a  headache. 

"  Come,  my  dear  lady,"  he  said,  "  and  sit  by  a  fel- 
low-dreamer. I  dreamed  a  poem  once  at  Calcutta, 
after  a  night  spent  in  philosophy.  It  astonished  me 
by  its  magnificence.  On  waking  I  wrote  it  down. 
It  was  a  terrible  chastisement  to  my  vanity.  I  de- 
scribed myself  as  being  turned  into  the  elephant 
which  holds  up  the  world  —  or  rather,  I  think,  into 
one  of  its  legs ;  and  then  into  the  shell  of  the  tortoise 
which  holds  up  the  elephant.     The  markings  on  the 

3i7 


318        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

shell  I  said  were  my  thoughts  and  feelings,  '  pat- 
terned with  gold  and  dark.'  That  phrase,  in  my 
dream,  seemed  to  me  a  revelation.  There  's  a  gen- 
tleman/' he  continued,  indicating  Mr.  Brompton, 
"  who  's  going  to  redeem  us  from  dreams,  and  give 
us  salvation  by  reality." 

Mr.  Brompton,  who,  in  an  ordinary  way,  would 
have  been  charmed  by  such  a  tribute  as  this,  wore  an 
air  of  important  pre-occupation  —  and  seemed 
hardly  to  understand  what  had  been  said  of  him. 

The  rain  of  the  night  had  continued,  and  was  still 
falling  lightly,  making  the  air  fresh  and  soft  with  a 
scent  of  gardens :  and  a  morning  indoors  being  the 
only  probable  prospect,  Glanville  proposed  to  show 
his  guests  the  house,  a  portion  of  which  they  had 
neither  used  nor  entered.  There  were  bed-rooms 
to  be  seen  with  some  fine  French  furniture  in  them, 
and  some  fine  mirrors  and  hangings  in  a  suite  of  dis- 
used sitting-rooms.  No  one  was  roused,  however,  to 
any  pitch  of  emotion  till,  a  door  being  opened  in  a 
wall  covered  with  decaying  damask,  the  sight-seers 
found  themselves  in  a  billiard-room,  and  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  modern  billiard-table.  The  room,  which 
seemed  to  have  been  built  about  fifty  years  ago,  was 
more  than  commonly  spacious,  and  was  furnished 
with  a  hideous  comfort.  Kaised  seats,  upholstered 
in  crimson  rep,  ran  along  the  walls  lengthways ;  and 
at  one  end  was  a  sort  of  dais  or  platform,  on  which 
stood  some  chairs  and  a  pale  mahogany  writing-desk. 
The  sole  mural  decorations  consisted  of  a  row  of 
cues:  a  board  for  scoring,  and  the  framed  rules  of 
the  game.  Glanville  was  preparing  to  apologize  for 
the  existence  of  this  late  addition,  made  by  a  sport- 


A  Toy-shop,  and  a  Blind  Alley  319 

ing  occupant  in  the  early  Victorian  epoch,  when  a 
sound,  which  seemed  to  be  expressive  of  sympathetic 
and  admiring  recognition,  broke  from  one  of  the 
party.  The  person  from  whom  it  broke  was  Mr. 
Brompton.  All  eyes  were  turned  on  him  in  per- 
plexed enquiry. 

"  Why,"  he  exclaimed,  "  it 's  the  very  thing !  If 
only  there  were  a  stripe  of  gilding  along  the  cornice, 
to  make  the  whole  affair  look  rather  more  glad,  and 
if  there  were  only  a  few  cheap  plaster  busts  of 
Euclid,  and  Bacon,  and  Justinian,  and  Confucius, 
and  others,  put  round  the  walls  on  brackets,  and  if 
the  billiard  table  were  taken  away,  this  room  would 
be  exactly  like  my  own  Ethical  Church.  The  day 
is  wet,  Mr.  Glanville.  We  can't  meet  out  of  doors. 
May  I,  when  the  time  comes,  give  you  my  address 
here  ?  I  should  just  stand  on  that  platform  at  the 
end  —  look  here,"  he  said  moving  to  the  spot  in  ques- 
tion, "  I  should  take  up  my  position  like  this.  A 
hymn,  or  rather  a  poem,  by  some  great  non-theistic 
writer  would  be  sung;  and  then  I  should  begin  to 
talk  —  talk  just  on  the  levels  of  ordinary  common- 
sense,  and  natural  human  feeling ;  and  in  spite  of  all 
this  destructive  work  of  science,  I  'd  engage  to  show 
you  in  iive-and-twenty  minutes  a  beautiful  religious 
soul  developing  itself  under  the  ribs  of  death." 

"  I  declare,"  said  Glanville,  "  I  think  your  idea 
is  excellent.  As  you  say,  it 's  still  raining.  We  had 
better  be  saved  under  shelter.  I  hope  our  distin- 
guished friend  won't  get  wet  as  he  comes  here  on  the 
launch." 

"  Who,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  is  the  distinguished 
friend  you  're  expecting  ?  " 


320        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you?"  said  Glanville;  and  he 
mentioned  the  friend's  name.  "  He  too  has  con- 
sented to  enlighten  us  with  some  of  his  wisdom: 
'<  but  he  's  coming  to  lunch  only.  He  insists  on  go- 
ing back  to-night." 

Mr.  Brompton  heard  the  name.  It  seemed  first 
to  surprise,  then  to  delight  him,  and  then,  when  he 
had  had  time  for  reflection,  to  mortify,  or  at  least 
perplex  him. 

"  I  could  n't,"  he  said  at  last,  "  have  a  more 
weighty  ally.  We  think  alike.  He  is,  as  it  were, 
a  schoolman,  an  Aquinas,  of  the  Ethical  Church.  I 
only  vitalize  his  ideas,  which  are  the  same  as  his,  into 
a  practical,  a  popular,  a  dynamic  form.  But  for 
that  very  reason  I  wish  that  I  might  speak  before 
his  arrival.  You  then  would  see  that  neither  of  us 
copies  the  other,  but  that  our  arguments  are  forti- 
fied by  their  natural,  indeed  their  inevitable,  coin- 
cidence. Only  in  that  case  —  are  you  ready  for 
serious  things  so  early  ?  I  should  have  to  speak  this 
morning." 

"  I,"  replied  Glanville,  "  am  just  as  ready  for 
truth  at  twelve  as  at  half-past  four.  What  does 
everybody  say  ? " 

Mrs.  Vernon  and  Lady  Snowdon  said  that  they 
must  positively  write  some  letters ;  but  that  an  hour 
hence  —  namely  at  twelve  o'clock  —  they  would  be 
ready.  Matters  therefore  were  so  arranged;  and 
Mr.  Brompton  announced  that  he  would  stay  where 
he  was  meanwhile,  and  prepare  his  notes. 

When  the  specified  time  arrived,  his  auditors 
found  him  in  position.  At  first,  however,  a  slight 
difficulty  arose  from  the  fact  that  Mr.  Hancock  was 


A  Toy-shop,  and  a  Blind  Alley   321 

inclined,  in  his  capacity  of  chairman,  to  occupy  the 
platform  with  the  speaker,  and  take  charge  of  the 
proceedings.  This  it  appeared  was  not  at  all  to  Mr. 
Brompton's  mind.  He  proposed,  he  said,  to  give 
them  a  service,  not  to  take  part  in  a  conference. 
"  But,"  he  added,  "  if  that  small  harmonium,  which 
I  see  under  the  row  of  billiard  cues,  could  be  lifted 
on  to  the  platform,  and  if  Mr.  Hancock  would  play 
a  hymn  on  it,  the  music  of  which  I  could  give  him,  I 
should  be  very  glad  of  his  assistance." 

"  I  'm  afraid,"  said  Mr.  Hancock  curtly,  "  my  only 
knowledge  of  music  consists  in  my  knowledge  that  I 
can  't  stand  harmoniums.  So  let  me  by  all  manner 
of  means  be  a  humble  member  of  the  congregation." 

Mr.  Brompton  crossed  his  arms  on  his  breast. 
His  face  assumed  a  dictatorial  composure ;  and  as 
soon  as  his  hearers  were  duly  seated  before  him,  he 
began  in  a  tone  which  was  at  once  grave  and  collo- 
quial. 

"  If,"  he  said,  "  I  were  really  in  my  own  church, 
and  if  we  had  our  hymn-books,  a  capable  accompan- 
ist, and  so  forth,  I  should  begin  —  well  —  one  of  our 
favorite  hymns  is, 

Oh,  may  I  join  the  choir  invisible 

Of  those  immortal  dead  who  live  again 

In  lives  made  better  by  their  presence. 

But  to-day  I  should  rather  have  chosen  that  poem 
by  Matthew  Arnold,  in  which  he  asks  what  is  the 
secret  of  the  calm  courses  of  the  stars,  and  in  which 
the  stars  answer  him  that  they  perform  their  own 
duty,  without  asking  i  In  what  state  God's  other 
works  may  be  % '     But  as  we  can  't  sing  that,  I  will 


322        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

begin  with  two  texts  from  Emerson  —  two  glorious 
sentences.  '  The  Highest  dwells  with  every  man,  if 
the  sentiment  of  duty  be  there.'  i  I  overlook  the 
Sun  and  Stars,  and  feel  them  to  be  but  for  accidents 
and  effects,  which  change  and  pass.'  The  particular 
application  of  these  I  will  make  plain  to  you  pres- 
ently. 

"  And  now,"  said  Mr.  Brompton,  "  to  business. 
The  Ethical  Church  accepts  with  absolute  freedom 
the  entire  revelation  of  science ;  and  it  welcomes  it, 
not  in  spite  of  its  destructiveness,  but  because  of  it. 
Science  creates,  as  it  were,  the  vacuum  into  which  the 
Ethical  Church  rushes.  Science,  with  its  scourge 
of  small  cords,  drives  clericalism  out  of  the  temple. 
Our  discussions  of  yesterday  will  show  you  how  com- 
pletely it  does  so.  Let  me  recall  to  your  minds  the 
manner  in  which  the  Bishop  of  Glastonbury,  acting 
precisely  like  the  clerics  of  my  own  late  Church,  en- 
deavored to  resist  this  process  of  spiritual  eviction. 
He  said  that  the  foundations  of  all  theistic  faith, 
were  to  be  found  in  what  he  called  three  gulfs, 
or  as  others  of  his  kidney  call  them,  three  gaps, 
or  rifts.  One  was  the  impassable  gulf  between  dead 
matter  and  the  energy  that  moves  and  directs  it. 
Another  was  the  impassable  gulf  between  lifeless 
matter  and  living.  The  third  the  impassable  gulf 
between  human  life  and  animal.  Gulfs,  rifts  !  "  said 
Mr.  Brompton,  with  an  engaging  laugh.  "  What 
fine  things  to  build  on.  But  yesterday  they  were 
declaring  that  their  God  was  revealed  to  us  in  our 
knowledge  of  nature.  Now  they  are  driven  to 
amend  their  plea,  and  declare  that  he  is  revealed  to 
us  in  the  blackness  of  our  supposed  ignorance.    Gulfs 


A  Toy-shop,  and  a  Blind  Alley   323 

—  rifts !  Yes  —  since  the  days  of  Galileo  our  theo- 
logians have  been  like  rabbits  living  in  dark  holes; 
and  as  soon  as  one  hole  was  stopped  with  good  incon- 
trovertible fact,  they  scampered  in  terror  across  the 
sunlight,  and  disappeared  into  others.  Yes  —  and 
the  same  process  has  continued  to  our  own  day ;  and 
the  holes  every  day  are  now  getting  very  few  in 
number.  Some  little  chemist  is  sent  into  one  like 
a  ferret,  and  out  he  comes  with  the  body  of  a  dead 
or  dying  theologian.  Each  of  those  special  gulfs,  or 
rifts,  or  rabbit-holes,  which  the  Bishop  indicated 
as  our  sure  and  eternal  refuges  —  the  only  remain- 
ing ones  which  he  and  his  friends  can  find  —  has, 
without  his  knowledge,  been  completely  stopped  up 
by  now.  The  more  we  learn  with  regard  to  the  na- 
ture of  matter,  the  more  clear  does  it  become  —  as 
is  illustrated  by  the  discovery  of  those  electrons  in 
which  matter  and  energy  are  not  even  formally  dis- 
tinguishable —  that  between  matter  and  energy 
there  is  no  gulf  at  all,  but  that  they  are  an  insep- 
arable fact.  And  with  regard  to  the  Bishop's  two 
other  gulfs,  the  case  is  just  the  same.  The  gulfs  be- 
tween the  conscious  and  the  unconscious,  and  the 
animal  life  and  the  human,  have  disappeared  com- 
pletely within  the  last  twenty  years.  And  with  the 
disappearance  of  these  hollows  of  ignorance  the 
whole  fable  of  the  cosmic  God  in  the  skies,  and  the 
permanence  of  the  human  mind,  disappears  also." 

"  I  declare,"  murmured  Mr.  Hancock,  "  he  talks 
much  better  sense  than  I  'd  looked  for." 

"And  now,"  continued  Mr.  Brompton,  "let  me 
take  up  my  own  parable.  Science  gives  us  an  empty 
heaven ;   but,  if  we  will  only  understand  it,  it  gives 


324        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

us  a  full  earth.  It  takes  from  us  a  God,  and  it 
takes  from  us  an  immortality,  which  are  nonsense. 
It  gives  us  equivalents  to  both  which  are  not  only 
facts  but  sense.  Churches  may  topple  down.  New 
Jerusalems  and  white  thrones  may  vanish;  but  the 
light  of  ethical  Humanity  will  only  shine  more  re- 
splendent. Last  night,  Mr.  Glanville  asked  for  a 
rock  —  I  am  here  to  give  him  one.  The  flame," 
said  Mr.  Brompton,  whose  mother  was  half  Irish, 
"  the  flame  of  Humanity  is  its  own  rock." 

"  You  will  perceive/'  he  continued,  "  that 
throughout  my  language  is  strictly  scientific.  Let 
us  now  go  into  details.  I  accept  —  we  of  the 
Ethical  Church  accept  —  the  definition  of  religion, 
which  was  reached  yesterday  afternoon,  as  a  desire, 
accompanied  by  a  belief  in  the  possibility  of  its 
actual  satisfacation,  for  some  larger  kindred  being, 
into  which  by  moral  conduct,  the  individual  life  may 
expand  itself.  We  have  seen  that  such  a  being 
is  not  to  be  discovered  in  the  Universe,  still  less  in 
the  organic  part  of  it  artificially  isolated  from  the 
whole.  In  what  Mr.  Hancock  has  called  organic 
pantheism  wre  find  not  only  non-morality,  and  non- 
wisdom,  but  definite  immorality,  cruelty,  injustice, 
and  stupidity.  In  what  then  do  we  find  the  sub- 
lime attributes  we  are  in  search  of  ?  In  what  larger 
life,  kindred  to  our  own,  do  we  find  these  ?  We  find 
them  in  the  race, —  the  species  —  of  which  we  form 
a  part.  We  find  them  in  Humanity  regarded  as  an 
organic  whole.  And  we  find  them  there  precisely  as 
theists  have  found  them  in  their  fancied  God.  We 
find  them  through  the  voice  of  conscience.  More- 
over the  tribal,  the  terrestrial,  the  purely  human 


A  Toy-shop,  and  a  Blind  Alley   325 

pedigree  of  this  faculty,  which  science  has  made  so 
obvious,  and  which  for  the  theist  takes  away  all  its 
value,  is  the  very  thing  which  for  the  Ethical  Church, 
invests  it  with  its  supreme  significance.  It  makes 
us  realize  that  conscience  points  to,  just  as  it  arises 
from,  social  needs,  not  astral  uniformities. 

"  Ah,  but  here  I  seem  to  hear  a  repetition  of  some- 
thing that  was  said  in  the  course  of  our  dispute  yes- 
terday ;  and  I  shall  answer  this  as  it  was  answered 
then.  It  was  then  objected  that  since  nothing  comes 
out  of  a  sack  but  what  was  in  it,  this  sacred  voice  of 
conscience,  having  been  as  it  were,  distilled  into  our 
brains  from  the  Universe,  must  pre-exist  in  the  Uni- 
verse as  a  sanctity  on  a  larger  scale.  Mr.  Glanville 
has  answered  this  argument  when  he  said  that  the 
simple  antecedent,  as  such,  need  have  none  of  the 
properties  which  we  value  in  more  complex  conse- 
quent. Water  and  barley,  so  long  as  they  remain 
water  and  barley,  have  none  of  the  properties  which 
the  drinker  values  in  whiskey.  A  cotton  shirt,  un- 
less I  am  informed  wrongly,  is  alcohol  in  another 
form.  But  the  Teetotal  saint  does  not  condemn  it 
on  this  account ;  neither  does  the  drinker  find  in  it 
a  stimulant.  So  too  a  Bacon,  a  Newton,  an  Emer- 
son, a  Frederick  Harrison  —  all  have  been  evolved 
from  a  race  of  helpless  savages ;  but  they  do  not  go 
to  the  savages  as  teachers  or  emblems  of  wisdom. 
~No  —  no.  The  common-sense  of  the  matter  is  just 
this  —  that  when  a  higher  thing  rises  out  of  a  lower 
thing,  the  latter  is  —  here  is  surely  an  identical 
proposition  —  lower  than  what  we  admit  to  be 
higher,  and  is  certainly  not  superior  to  it.  Let  us 
then  apply  this  truism  to  the  human  race  and  the 


326        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

Universe,  and  we  find  it  transfigured  into  the  new 
and  reconstructive  truth  which  it  is  the  great  mission 
of  the  Ethical  Church  to  teach  —  namely  that,  so  far 
as  any  knowledge,  imagination,  or  conjecture  of  ours 
can  reach,  the  human  race,  or  Humanity,  is  not  lower 
than  the  Universe,  but  higher ;  and  it,  and  not  the 
Universe,  is  the  one  proper,  verifiable,  and  morally 
responsive  object,  of  enlightened  man's  religion. 
This  Great  Being  is  more  than  any  cosmic  Theistic 
God.  It  produces  us,  creates  us,  cradles  us,  helps  us 
from  our  first  hour  of  life ;  and  it  asks  of  us,  as  our 
reasonable  service,  that  we  also  should  help  it." 

"  Is  not  this,"  said  Mr.  Brompton,  conscious  of 
having  made  a  point,  "  a  true  religion,  if  the  essence 
of  religion  be,  as  we  have  all  admitted,  the  enlarge- 
ment of  the  individual  life  into  something  larger 
than,  and  yet  kindred  to,  itself?  Is  it  not,  I  ask 
you,  in  the  strictest  sense  a  scientific  religion,  since 
the  conscience  which  animates  it  derives  its  sole  au- 
thority, from  being,  what  science  says  it  is,  the  voice 
of  tribal  experience  —  the  revealer  of  what  is  good 
not  for  each  man,  but  for  Humanity  ?  And  finally 
—  here  is  one  of  its  most  glorious  and  hopeful  fea- 
tures —  is  it  not  a  growing  religion,  since  the  voice 
of  tribal  experience  becomes  with  each  succeeding 
century  not  only  richer  and  riper,  but  ever  and  ever 
wider,  till  at  last  there  shall  be  one  tribe  only,  and 
that  tribe  shall  be  mankind  ?  " 

Mr.  Brompton  looked  down  and  coughed,  as 
though  collecting  his  thoughts,  and  waiting  for  ap- 
plause as  well.     Then  he  began  again. 

"  I  'm  quite  sure,"  he  said,  "  you  will  see  now 
how  false,  how  foolish,  how  babyish,  is  the  alarm  of 


A  Toy-shop,  and  a  Blind  Alley    327 

the  Christian,  or  the  theist,  who  thinks  that  with 
the  elimination  of  his  phantom  God,  and  his  own 
personal  immortality,  any  one  of  the  virtues  which 
he  prizes  most  will  perish.  All  remain,  changed 
only  by  being  intensified." 

"  May  I,"  said  Mr.  Hancock  from  his  seat,  "  take 
an  ex-chairman's  privilege,  and  ask  you,  on  my  own 
account  and  Lady  Snowdon's,  what  according  to  the 
Church  of  Humanity  is  the  root  idea  of  virtue  %  " 

"  Ah,"  replied  Mr.  Brompton,  as  though  the  ques- 
tion helped  him  out,  "  I  like  that  interruption  well. 
At  bottom  all  practical  virtues  —  even  those  of 
mythological  Christianity  —  are  of  one  and  the  same 
character.  Virtue  is  social  endeavor  —  constant 
consecrated  struggle  to  serve  and  improve  one's 
neighbor,  who  becomes,  under  our  new  religion,  mag- 
nified into  all  mankind,  and  is  thus  also  made  im- 
mortal, like  a  corporation  that  never  dies.  And  now 
let  us  go  deeper  yet  — " 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  but  I  've  one 
question  still  to  ask.  You  speak  of  Humanity  as  a 
corporation  which  never  dies.  Well,  I  admit  it  may 
last  for  some  time  yet,  just  like  our  Welsh  coal.  But 
if  anything's  certain,  it 's  certain  that,  like  our  coal, 
it  will  die  out  some  day." 

"  To  that  objection,"  said  Mr.  Brompton,  "  and  to 
others  of  the  same  kind,  we  have  one  sovereign  an- 
swer, which  has  been  given  independently  by  all  the 
great  minds  of  our  Church.  Our  answer  to  such  objec- 
tions simply  is  Do  n't  think  about  them.  If  our 
ethical  enthusiasm  is  chilled  by  the  idea  of  the  vast- 
ness  of  the  Universe,  we  say  in  the  words  of  Mr. 
Frederick  Harrison,  '  Away  with  such  unmanly  mus- 


328        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

ings ! '  —  or  in  the  words  of  Arnold,  that  we  ask  no 
more  than  the  stars  do  what  exists  outside  our  own 
living  activity;  or  again  we  quote  one  of  my  own 
texts  from  Emerson,  who  by  a  glorious  effort  of  the 
imagination  turns  the  tables  on  the  Universe,  and 
declares  that  the  sun  and  stars  are  but  fair  effects 
which  pass,  and  that  the  Human  Eace  is  what  en- 
dures. And  now  let  me  go  back  to  virtue,  the  es- 
sence of  which  is  social  struggle." 

"  But  surely,"  interrupted  Mr.  Hancock  again, 
"  we  have  one  and  all  agreed  that  struggle,  as  an 
effort  proceeding  from  the  individual,  is  shown  by 
science  to  be  a  delusion." 

"  Oh,"  said  Mr.  Brompton,  hastily,  "  we  must  n't 
push  things  too  far.  Why,  personal  struggle  is  the 
very  essence  of  virtue.  Psychology  tells  us  that. 
Sociology  tells  us  that.  These  are  sciences,  and 
there  's  no  getting  out  of  what  they  tell  us.  Virtue 
is  essentially  an  heroic  struggle  with  imperfection. 
Virtue  is  the  struggle  with  bad  social  conditions,  bad 
laws,  bad  health,  bad  education,  bad  everything,  and 
out  of  the  resistance  required  by  badness  for  its 
overthrow,  the  ethical  rapture  springs.  It 's  only 
for  this  reason  that  men  are  higher  than  animals; 
or  that  Humanity  when  perfect  will  be  better  than  a 
hive  of  bees.  Let  me  put  more  strongly  still  this 
sacred  and  assured  truth  — " 

But  here  Mr.  Brompton  was  interrupted.  A 
servant  made  his  appearance,  who  announced  to 
Glanville  that  the  expected  guest  had  arrived,  and 
asked  if  the  gentleman  should  be  shown  into  the  bil- 
liard room. 

"  Pray  not,"  said  Mr.  Brompton.     "  Pray  not,  on 


A  Toy-shop,  and  a  Blind  Alley   329 

any  account.  Let  us  hear  after  luncheon  what  the 
great  man  has  to  say  himself ;  and  I  '11  give  you  the 
rest  of  my  own  discourse  this  evening.  You  '11  be 
almost  amused  by  seeing  how  exactly  he  agrees  with 


CHAPTER    II 

i  L\  X  TELL,  this  is,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  a  quite 
V  V  unexpected  pleasure.  I  hope  you  '11  find 
the  conditions  under  which  we  are  meeting  now 
more  satisfactory  than  those  under  which  we  last 
parted.  I  shall  never  forget  how  you  snubbed  me  at 
that  unfortunate  ball." 

"  I  trust,"  said  the  gentleman  addressed,  "  that 
you  did  not  really  misapprehend  the  terms  of  my 
remarks  on  that  occasion.  It  is  true  that  I  deem 
conversation  which  consists  of  trivial  personalities, 
and  the  habitual  course  of  conduct  out  of  which  such 
conversation  springs,  to  be  —  perchance  I  had  best 
not  specify  what.  But  social  intercourse  which  re- 
sults in  any  serious  comparisons  of  general  facts  and 
problems,  as  they  present  themselves  to  various 
minds,  even  when  associated  with  laughter  and  the 
ordinary  commonplaces  of  friendship,  I  look  upon 
as  being,  in  moderation,  healthful  both  for  mind  and 
body." 

So  spoke  Mr.  Brock,  for  the  guest  was  none  other 
than  he,  to  Mrs.  Vernon,  who,  with  her  customary 
social  promptitude,  had  made  her  way  to  the  draw- 
ing-room, anticipating  even  her  host. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  you  We  heard,  no 
doubt,  from  Mr.  Glanville,  that  everybody  here  is  in 
a  mood  which  ought  to  meet  your  approval.  We  've 
all  of  us  been  asking  how  much  religion  and  morality 

33o 


A  Toy-shop,  and  a  Blind  Alley   331 

science  will  leave  us  when  we  really  understand  what 
it  teaches  us.  Oddly  enough  the  subject  has  proved 
so  interesting  that  nobody  here  has  been  talking 
about  anything  else." 

"  Surely/'  said  Mr.  Brock,  "  you  pay  a  poor  com- 
pliment to  human  nature  if  you  consider  it  odd  that 
intelligent  men  and  women  should  manifest  any  in- 
terest in  the  question  which  concerns  them  most." 

"  I  'm  glad,"  replied  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  to  hear  you 
say  that.  Mr.  Glanville  has  been  trying  to  indoc- 
trinate us  with  the  forlorn  conclusion  that  science 
won't  allow  us  to  have  any  belief  in  anything  —  not 
even  in  our  souls  and  an  intelligent  ruler  of  the 
Universe." 

Mr.  Brock  looked  down  on  Mrs.  Vernon  with  an 
expression  of  amazed  compassion.  "  Religion,"  he 
began,  "  is  not  a  system  of  belief,  but  a  state  of  mind 
arising  from  our  knowledge  that  reality  is  unknow- 
able." 

But  here  he  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
Lady  Snowdon,  who  was  closely  followed  by  the  host 
and  the  rest  of  the  party.  Lady  Snowdon,  when 
Mr.  Brock  was  introduced  to  her,  acknowledged  the 
philosopher's  bow  with  a  majesty  so  cordial  that  it 
would  have  given  him  unmixed  delight  if  it  had  not 
been  too  suggestive  of  an  intellectual  equality  with 
himself.  Mr.  Hancock  shook  him  by  the  hand  with 
an  effusiveness  reserved  for  the  celebrated.  Mr. 
Brompton  made  a  statement,  which  struck  Mr.  Brock 
as  superfluous  to  the  effect  that  he  had  read  with  ad- 
miration many  of  Mr.  Brock's  works;  whilst  Miss 
Leighton  confused  him  for  a  moment  by  the  curious 
magic  of  her  manner,  which  made  him  vaguely  feel 


332        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

that  they  were  people  of  different  sexes.  Lord  Res- 
tormel,  however,  who  lounged  into  the  room  late,  so 
quickened  his  step  when  he  perceived  Mr.  Brock's 
presence,  and  held  him  by  the  arm  with  so  much  af- 
fectionate reverence,  that  Mr.  Brock,  when  they  pres- 
ently went  in  to  luncheon,  felt  himself  after  all 
amongst  reasonable  human  beings,  who,  even  if  they 
were  not  perfectly  wise  already,  were  desirous  and 
prepared  to  be  made  so  by  a  little  of  his  own 
teaching. 

Such  being  the  case,  he  was  good  enough  not  to  be 
displeased  by  the  fact  that  the  conversation  for  some 
time  was  adroitly  diverted  by  the  host  from  the  lofty 
questions  that  wTere  engaging  them,  and  confined  it- 
self to  what  Mr.  Brock  described  as  "  proximate  in- 
terests "  —  such  as  the  Irish  climate ;  the  character 
of  the  Irish  peasantry,  with  their  imperfect  sense  of 
veracity ;  and  even  the  character  of  his  own  house  at 
Ballyf  ergus,  of  the  meals  supplied  to  him  by  his  land- 
lady, and  the  manner  in  which  he  ate  them. 

"  I  find,"  he  said,  "  that  a  repast  such  as  the  pres- 
ent, where  the  dishes  are  numerous,  and  some  rich 
and  elaborate,  is,  when  eaten  in  company,  frequently 
much  more  wdiolesome  than  one  which  is  severely 
simple,  if  the  latter  be  consumed  in  solitude.  It  is 
important  to  remember  that,  when  we  eat  our  food  in 
company,  the  cerebral  and  nervous  actions  set  up  by 
conversation,  and  even  by  laughter,  constitute  a 
powerful  digestive.  As  for  myself,"  Mr.  Brock  con- 
tinued, "  when  I  dine  alone  I  have  my  soup  brought 
to  me  in  two  successive  tea-cups,  with  an  interval  of 
ten  minutes  between  them,  during  which  I  pace  the 
room  in  order  to  promote  circulation ;  or  I  stimulate 


A  Toy-shop,  and  a  Blind  Alley   333 

my  risible  faculties  by  persuing  accounts  in  the  news- 
papers of  the  blunders  —  of  daily  occurrence  as  Mr. 
Glanville  knows  —  perpetrated  by  the  Government, 
or  this  or  that  public  body,  and  the  rest  of  my  meal 
is  consumed  under  the  same  conditions." 

The  unusual  character  of  Mr.  Brock's  table-talk 
secured  for  him  an  attention  which  was  highly  agree- 
able to  himself,  and  prepared  both  himself  and  his 
listeners  for  the  still  more  prominent  position  he  was 
destined  to  occupy  when  the  business  of  the  after- 
noon should  begin.  It  was  not,  however,  till  the 
ladies  of  the  party  had  withdrawn,  that  any  reference 
was  made  to  the  actual  business  itself.  The  subject 
then  was  at  once  broached  by  Mr.  Hancock,  who  lost 
no  time  in  recovering  the  sense  of  leadership,  of 
which  Mr.  Brompton's  ministrations  before  luncheon 
had  deprived  him. 

"  I  suppose,  Brock,"  he  said,  "  you  ?ve  been  posted 
up  by  Mr.  Glanville  in  what 's  been  going  on  here. 
I  ?m  speaking  of  these  Conferences  of  ours,  which  are 
rivals  to  those  of  your  neighbors." 

Mr.  Brock  replied  that  he  had,  in  a  general  way, 
been  informed  of  the  nature  of  these  discussions,  and 
the  point  which  had  now  been  reached.  "  Mr.  Glan- 
ville," he  went  on,  "  originally  suggested  that  I 
should  say  something  on  the  subject  of  Universal 
Causation,  a  complete  demonstration  of  which  would 
be  the  sum  total  of  science.  I  gather,  however,  that, 
under  present  circumstances,  it  would  be  more  help- 
ful and  appropriate  if  I  said  something  briefly  about 
the  application  of  this  principle  to  Ethics." 

"  Precisely,"  said  Mr.  Hancock.  "  You  've  hit 
the  nail  on  the  head." 


334        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

"  What  then,"  said  Mr.  Brock,"  are  the  points  on 
which  I  should  deal  especially?  Shall  I  show  how 
the  basis  of  Ethics  is  strictly  natural  and  sociological  ? 
Shall  I  go  into  the  tribal,  or  the  natural,  history  of 
conscience  ?  Is  that  the  sort  of  thing  you  want  \  I 
offered  to  do  this  at  Ballyfergus;  but  my  clerical 
neighbors  would  not  hear  of  it." 

"  No,  no,"  interposed  Mr.  Brompton.  "  Perhaps 
I  may  put  in  a  word  here.  I  have,  Mr.  Brock,  as  a 
devout  follower  of  your  self,  been  going  into  all  that 
this  morning.  I  Ve  been  showing  that  your  science 
does  nothing  to  destroy  virtue,  duty,  ethical  en- 
deavor, and  so  on  —  that  these  arise  from  the  neces- 
sities of  social  co-operation :  but  if  some  of  our  party 
—  especially  the  ladies,  could  feel  that  I  had  your 
vast  authority  behind  me,  I,  as  a  practical  teacher 
should  feel  helped  and  fortified." 

"  Mr.  Brock,"  said  Glanville,  "  can  feel  for  the 
needs  of  ladies.  The  other  day  I  found  him  in- 
structing one.  By  the  way,  what  progress  towards 
truth  is  your  Eloisa  making  %  " 

"  Mr.  Glanville,"  said  Mr.  Brock,  with  an  indul- 
gent wave  of  the  hand,  "  you  banter  me.  I  shocked 
you,  perchance,  the  other  day  by  admitting  my  in- 
difference to  poetry.  I  am  indifferent  to  it  mainly 
because  it  occupies  itself  in  a  manner  so  inordinate, 
with  the  attractions  of  a  woman,  considered  as  a 
woman,  for  man  —  an  affection  the  importance  of 
which,  even  if  we  admit  its  concomitants  to  be  pleas- 
ing, is,  apart  from  its  functional  character,  beyond 
my  own  comprehension.  I  admit,  however,  that 
contact  with  the  female  intelligence  is  instructive; 
because,  intellectually  a  quick-witted  and  superior 


A  Toy-shop,  and  a  Blind  Alley   335 

woman  may  be  taken  as  representing  fairly  the  in- 
telligence of  the  ordinary  man;  and  if  one  such 
woman  can  understand  what  I  put  before  her,  I  make 
myself  experimentally  sure  that  it  will  be  understood 
by  a  thousand  men.  I  am  glad  therefore  that  this 
gentleman,  who  has  been  giving  you  some  popular 
science  "  —  Mr.  Brompton  frowned  —  "  should  have 
mentioned  the  requirements  of  your  ladies,  so  that  I 
may  phrase  my  exposition  accordingly." 

It  here  dawned  upon  Mr.  Brock  that  he  was  not 
paying  a  very  ingratiating  compliment  either  to  the 
absent  ladies  of  the  party,  or  even  to  the  present 
gentlemen.  He  therefore  pulled  himself  up,  with 
some  faint  sign  of  confusion.  "  But,"  he  said,  "  I 
am  straying.  What  I  ought  to  ask  is,  that  this  gen- 
tleman should  inform  me  as  to  how  I  may  supple- 
ment the  exposition  —  I  make  no  doubt  an  admirable 
one  —  which  he  has,  it  appears,  been  giving  you,  of 
the  natural  basis  of  Ethics." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Brompton,"  said  Glanville,  "  tell  him 
that.     The  matter  rests  with  you." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Brompton,  "  what  I  should  per- 
sonally wish  is  this  —  that,  assuming  a  knowledge 
on  our  part  that  the  basis  of  Ethics  is  natural  —  he 
should  give  us  the  benefit  of  his  unrivalled  authority 
as  a  specialist,  and  show  us,  and  the  ladies  of  our 
party  in  particular,  how  the  social  conscience  does 
actually  give  us  an  equivalent,  and  more  than  equiva- 
lent, to  the  virtue  of  an  outworn  theology." 

"  Be  it  so,"  said  Mr.  Brock  blandly,  with  a  slight 
bow  over  his  coffee-cup :  "  though  I  fear  this  gentle- 
man flatters  me  when  he  invests  me  with  the  charac- 
ter of  a  specialist." 


336        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

The  rain  by  this  time  had  nearly,  but  not  quite 
ended.  It  was  therefore  arranged  that  Mr.  Brock 
should  dispense  his  philosophy  in  the  portico.  Mr. 
Hancock  with  great  alertness  made  a  suitable  dis- 
position of  chairs  there ;  and  in  order  that  his  own 
position  should  not  again  be  taken  from  him,  he 
began,  almost  before  the  company  had  assumed  their 
places,  to  state  that  Mr.  Brompton,  in  his  capacity 
of  religious  teacher,  had  given  them,  in  outline,  a 
system  of  purely  natural  Ethics ;  "  but,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  as  a  general  desire  prevails  to  hear  the  mat- 
ter put  in  a  somewhat  more  formal  way,  we  are  for- 
tunate in  having  amongst  us  this  afternoon,  the  most 
celebrated,  and  greatest  of  all  our  scientific  phi- 
losophers :  and  it  is  now  my  privilege  to  request  him 
to  be  good  enough  to  address  us." 

Mr.  Brock  seemed  a  little  doubtful  as  to  whether 
he  should  sit  or  stand.  He  decided  in  favor  of  sit- 
ting; and  so  adjusted  his  chair  that  he  was  able  to 
lean  his  elbow  on  Mr.  Hancock's  table  —  an  arrange- 
ment which  gave  him  the  air  of  an  overwhelming 
school-master  at  his  desk. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said,  "  that  as  the  rudiments  of 
the  problem  have  been  put  before  you  already  I  may 
plunge  in  medias  res.  Let  us  then  make  a  start  with 
considering  an  Ethical  precept  which  occupies  a  con- 
spicuous place  in  the  Hebrew  Table  of  Command- 
ments —  the  precept  i  Thou  shalt  not  kill.'  Now 
does  the  desirability  that  men  —  we  who  are  here, 
for  instance  —  should  abstain  from  killing  one  an- 
other, depend  on  a  belief  that  murder  has  been  su- 
pernaturally  forbidden?  Would  it  not  be  equally 
evident,  in  the  absence  of  any  such  inhibition,  that 


A  Toy-shop,  and  a  Blind  Alley   337 

no  social  aggregate  could  prosper,  or  indeed  exist,  if 
the  practice  of  murder  were  not  rigorously  con- 
demned and  suppressed  ?  " 

"  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Brompton,  "  that  I  Vc  made 
that  plain  myself." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Brock  indulgently,  "  proceed 
we  a  step  farther.  We  have  seen  that  all  social  ex- 
perience must  give  rise  to  a  social  judgment  that 
abstention  from  murder  is  needful  for  the  preserva- 
tion of  the  social  aggregate;  and  along  with  this 
judgment,  there  necessarily  arises  also  a  regulative 
system,  by  means  of  which  the  commission  of  mur- 
der is  penalized.  But  now  mark  this.  A  man  can- 
not be  called  moral  who  is  withheld  from  committing 
murder  only  by  dread  of  external  penalties  —  who 
would  use  his  dagger  if  he  did  not  see  the  policeman. 
We  call  him  moral  when  the  regulative  system  within 
him  is  so  adapted  to  the  needs  of  the  social  environ- 
ment that  it  repeats  the  inhibitions  or  injunctions  of 
the  regulative  system  without.  And  here  let  me 
take  another  step.  Just  as  it  is  a  fact  that  men 
have  two  legs,  that  they  acquire  gradually  the  power 
of  walking,  of  speaking,  of  reasoning,  and  so  forth, 
so  it  is  a  fact  that  an  adaptation  of  the  kind  re- 
ferred to  does  take  place  within  them,  in  thje  course 
of  generations.  So  far  as  murder  is  concerned  it 
has  taken  place  already.  The  judgment  and  the 
feelings  of  the  ordinary  civilized  man  with  regard 
to  this  particular  act  have  so  far  adapted  themselves 
to  the  needs  of  the  social  organism  that,  though  the 
commission  of  a  murder  might  afford  him  some  im- 
mediate gratification  the  murderous  impulse  is  in- 
hibited without  conscious  effort.     And  this  inner  or 


338        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

subjective  adaptation  of  the  judgment  and  feelings  to 
the  objective  requirements  of  the  life  of  this  social  or- 
ganism, always  having  for  its  concomitant  a  specific 
change  in  the  cerebral  and  nervous  system  of  the  in- 
dividual, constitutes  the  development  of  what  is  com- 
monly called  conscience.  Well,"  said  Mr.  Brock, 
beginning  to  struggle  with  a  slight  cough,  "  this 
which  holds  good  so  obviously  in  the  simple  case  of 
murder,  holds  good  equally  throughout  the  entire 
field  of  conduct.  Do  you  think,  Mr.  Glanville,  I 
might  ask  for  a  glass  of  water  ?  I  am  troubled  at 
times  by  a  momentary  catarrhal  irritation." 

"  Is  n't  that  what  I  told  you,"  said  Mr.  Brompton, 
while  the  glass  of  water  was  being  fetched,  and  Mr. 
Brock,  in  the  interval,  breathed  on  and  rubbed  his 
spectacles.  "  But,  Mr.  Brock,"  he  went  on,  "  with- 
out disrespect  to  yourself,  I  may  say  that  I  Ve  gone 
over  all  this  preliminary  ground  already." 

"  Well  then,"  said  Mr.  Brock,  when  he  had  sol- 
emnly sipped  his  water,  "  shall  I  proceed  to  show 
how  the  promptings  of  the  social  conscience  coincide, 
in  all  important  respects,  wTith  the  current  ideas  of 
duty ;  and  further,  how  the  regulative,  the  inhibitive 
control  of  conscience,  becomes  gradually  transformed 
into  the  active  commands  of  sympathy  ? " 

"  Ay,"  said  Mr.  Brompton.  "  Let  us  hear  you  on 
those  great  points." 

"  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Brock,  "  we  will  first  take  an- 
other by  the  way.  It  is  certain  to  be  objected  by 
supernaturalists,  that  murder  —  I  still  keep  that  as 
an  example  —  is  to  be  condemned,  not  only  because 
it  is  a  wrong  to  society,  but  because  it  ministers  to 
a  pleasure  inherently  wrong  in  the  individual  —  to 


A  Toy-shop,  and  a  Blind  Alley    339 

wit  that  of  gratified  hatred;  the  wrongness  of  which 
is  referable  to  some  mysterious  inner  standard,  not 
dependent  on  the  facts  and  needs  of  society.  But 
this  very  action  which  we  are  contemplating  will  at 
once  dispose  of  this  error.  For  what  is  hatred  ?  It 
is  hatred  of  another  person.  It  arises  only  when  a 
social  relation  develops  itself;  and  thus  the  con- 
demnation we  pass  on  the  pleasure  of  gratified 
hatred  springs  from  those  social  relations  which  alone 
make  such  pleasures  possible.  Has  then  a  man  no 
moral  duties  to  himself?  Here  we  come  to  a  ques- 
tion which  the  ladies,  I  judge,  will  consider  interest- 
ing." 

Lady  Snowdon  and  Mrs.  Vernon  greeted  this  an- 
nouncement with  approval. 

"  To  that  question,"  said  Mr.  Brock,  "  we  must 
answer  Yes  and  No.  To  speak  strictly,  the  moral 
duties  of  man  arise  solely  from  the  fact  that  he  is  a 
member  of  the  social  organism ;  but  he  is  capable  of 
being  a  member  of  it  only  because  he  also  is  an  or- 
ganism himself :  and  in  order  to  play  his  social  part 
fittingly  his  individual  organism  must  be  in  a  sound 
condition. 

"  Now  such  soundness  can  be  obtained  and  pre- 
served only  by  a  frequent  subordination  of  imme- 
diate and  intense  pleasure  to  a  pleasure  which  is 
more  remote  and  diffused  —  namely,  that  of  general 
well-being.  Take  we,  for  example,  the  familiar 
pleasures  of  intemperance.  Intemperance  is  biologi- 
cally immoral,  not  on  account  of  the  immediate 
pleasure  resulting  from  it,  but  on  account  of  the  re- 
moter evils  —  the  disturbance  of  the  balance  of 
faculties  in  the  individual,  and  the  unexpected  re- 


34°        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

duct  ion  in  the  amount  of  pleasure  which  his  life 
yields  him  on  the  whole." 

"  You  would  say  then,  I  presume/'  interposed 
Alistair  Seaton,  "  that  '  Blessed  are  the  pure  in 
heart '  is  a  maxim  of  biological  rather  than  of  trans- 
cendental morality." 

"  It  is,"  replied  Mr.  Brock  solemnly.  "  The 
maxim,  in  so  far  as  it  is  self-regarding,  means  that 
the  balance  of  functions  is  exceptionally  liable  to  be 
disturbed  —  though  myself  I  contest  the  assumption 
—  by  the  absence  of  those  inhibitions  which  are  con- 
nected by  the  term  purity." 

"  But,  Mr.  Brock,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  surely 
pleasure  is  not  the  test  of  morality.  Is  it,  Mr.  Glan- 
ville  ? " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Brock,  with  a  slightly  sar- 
castic smile,  "  you  think  that  the  test  of  right  con- 
duct is  not  the  pleasure  it  produces,  but  the  pain. 
No,  no.  We  can  none  of  us  really  mean  that.  Ulti- 
mate pleasure  at  some  time,  and  of  some  kind,  is  an 
inexpugnable  element  in  the  conception  of  all  right 
action.  What  does  Supernaturalism  promise  us  as 
an  inducement  to  act  rightly  ?  A  peace  that  passes 
understanding.  This  may  not  be  a  physical  pleas- 
ure; but  it  is  a  pleasure  none  the  less.  Indeed 
Ethical  or  moral  science  may  be  described  as  the 
science  of  pleasure.  The  Beatitudes  themselves,  in 
their  larger  meaning,  exemplify  this.  Blessed  are 
the  poor,  blessed  are  the  merciful,  because  —  such 
was  the  supposition  of  the  speaker — social  aggregates 
in  which  such  persons  are  most  numerous,  are  aggre- 
gates which  secure  to  their  members  generally  pleas- 


A  Toy-shop,  and  a  Blind  Alley   341 

ures,  or  pleasurable  states,  the  greatest  possible  alike 
in  length  and  breadth. 

"  Perhaps/'  continued  Mr.  Brock,  "  such  a  state- 
ment shocks  some  of  you.  They  may  find  relief  in 
the  thought,  that  the  maximum  of  social  and  indi- 
vidual pleasure  alike  can  be  achieved,  as  things  are, 
only  by  self-denials.  I  have,  however,  something 
more  to  point  out  than  this,  which  will  convert  their 
relief  into  satisfied,  and  even  eager  acquiescence.  I 
am  now  going  to  take  you  rapidly  to  the  culmination 
of  scientific  Ethics  —  indeed  to  the  final  message  of 
all  science,  so  far  as  our  practical  welfare  is  con- 
cerned. 

"  We  have  seen  that  conscience  is  the  internal 
counterpart  or  echo  of  the  laws  and  punishments 
which  societies  have  to  frame  and  enforce,  in  order 
to  deter  their  members  from  acts  which  are  anti- 
social. In  this  way  a  man  becomes  a  law  to  himself. 
The  requisite  fear  of  offending  develops  itself  in  his 
own  brain.  But  in  proportion  —  we  are  now  com- 
ing to  the  culminating  fact  which  I  have  referred  to 
—  in  proportion  as  this  regulative  and  purely  in- 
hibitive  fear  gradually  produces  an  amelioration  of 
the  conditions  of  the  social  aggregate,  another  kind 
of  feeling  begins  to  develop  along  with  it.  This 
feeling  is  sympathy,  or  the  natural  tendency  to  de- 
rive pleasure  and  pain,  not  only  from  the  enjoy- 
ments or  sufferings  directly  experienced  by  our- 
selves, but  also  from  the  re-representations  of  the 
enjoyments  and  sufferings  of  others.  This  feeling, 
moreover,  be  it  marked,  is  not  only  the  constant  ally 
of  the  sense  of  obligation,  or  conscientious  fear,  but 
essentially  goes  beyond  it,  and  is  always  tending  to 


342        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

supersede  it.  Conscience  is  inhibitive.  Sympathy 
is  impulsive.  Instead  of  making  an  anti-social 
egoism  painful,  it  makes  social  altruism  pleasurable. 
Sympathy  is,  as  it  were,  a  second  and  new  locomo- 
tive, attached  to  the  train  of  progress,  whilst  that 
which  is  inhibitive  fear,  is  by  degrees  wearing  itself 

out." 

"  True,  true,"  murmured  Mr.  Brompton.  "  Pre- 
cisely what  we  are  always  preaching." 

"  And  pray  let  me,"  said  Mr.  Brock,  "  urge  on  you 
that  this  is  no  mere  theory.  It  is  fact,  and,  if  we 
will  only  look  round  us,  familiar  fact.  Let  me  give 
you,  as  an  example,  the  care  of  parents  for  their  off- 
spring. Times  were  when  things  were  different. 
The  primitive  father  did  not  recognize  his  offspring 
as  his  own.  The  care  of  it  devolved  on  the  female, 
and  ceased  as  soon  as  the  offspring  was  able  to  shift 
for  itself.  Now,  in  most  races,  both  parents  make 
constant  efforts  for  its  welfare;  and  these  efforts, 
though  to  the  parents  they  are  proximately  painful, 
have  become  in  their  minds  so  associated  with  the 
welfare  of  another  being,  that  the  requisite  sacrifice 
is  made  without  any  sense  of  obligation. 

"  And  now  mark  what  follows.  The  development 
of  this  particular  form  of  sympathy  was  the  work  of 
ages;  but  look  round  you  at  the  world  to-day,  and 
then  look  back  at  the  world  as  it  was  the  day  before 
yesterday.  You  will  see  developments  of  the  same 
kind,  but  very  much  more  rapid,  and  no  less  remark- 
able. Take  for  example,  the  way  in  which  war  is 
now  conducted.  Instead  of  killing  the  wounded,  we 
endeavor  to  cure  them  in  our  hospitals.  Four  gen- 
erations ago,  to  free  a  slave  would  have  been  ap- 


A  Toy-shop,  and  a  Blind  Alley   343 

plauded  as  an  act  of  generosity ;  now  to  own  one  is 
looked  upon  as  a  heinous  crime.  Conditions  of 
squalor  among  the  poor,  which  our  fathers  regarded 
as  inevitable,  excite  in  ourselves  compassion  and  a 
strong  desire  to  remove  them. 

"  Well,  all  these  developments,  like  that  of 
parental  affection,  are  plainly  due  to  the  develop- 
ment of  the  sympathetic  feeling,  which  is  ever  in- 
creasing the  number  of  those  pains  and  pleasures  of 
others,  which  are,  as  subjects  of  mental  re-repre- 
sentation, painful  and  pleasurable  to  ourselves.  Re- 
mains it  that  I  point  out  to  you  very  briefly  the  pre- 
cise cause  to  which  this  development  of  sympathy  is 
due  —  especially  its  more  rapid  development  during 
recent  times.  Its  cause  is  to  be  found  in  those  rapid 
social  changes  themselves,  most  of  which  rest  on 
scientific  discovery,  such  as  the  spread  of  education, 
the  growth  of  the  newspaper  press,  the  increased 
production  of  wealth,  the  rise  in  the  standard  of  liv- 
ing, all  which  things  combine  to  bring  before  us  an 
increasing  volume  of  prosperous  and  pleasurable  con- 
ditions, from  which  our  sympathies  derive  pleasure, 
and  which  we  wish  therefore  to  increase  still  fur- 
ther; and  to  bring  before  us  also  pains,  previously 
unnoticed,  from  which  our  sympathies  derive  pain, 
and  which  we  wish  therefore  to  see  eradicated.  The 
development  of  our  social  sympathies  is  even  now 
partial  only  — " 

"  Unfortunately,"  interposed  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  no- 
body can  deny  that." 

"Nay,"  said  Mr.  Brock,  "fortunately.  For  if, 
whilst  society  still  remained  imperfect,  and  con- 
tained pains  and  evils  not  for  the  time  removable, 


344        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

our  sympathies  were  developed  in  such  wise  that  all 
the  pains  of  others  affected  us  as  though  they  were 
actually  our  own,  acute  misery  would  in  that  case  be 
the  lot  of  everybody.  A  single  tooth-ache  in  Pekin 
would  make  all  London  beside  itself.  But  in  precise 
proportion  as  suffering  tends  to  disappear,  there  is  a 
widening  of  the  area  of  conditions  on  which  sym- 
pathy can  dwell  not  with  distracting  pain,  but  with 
bracing  pleasure :  and  the  range  and  efficiency  of  our 
sympathy  will  be  enlarged  concurrently  with  this 
process,  and  again  will  in  its  turn  accelerate  it. 

"  And  here,"  continued  Mr.  Brock,  "  to  bring  mat- 
ters to  a  conclusion,  let  us  consider  the  final  truth  — 
the  last  word  of  science  —  which  emerges  from  the 
foregoing  facts.  In  proportion  as  conduct  becomes 
completely  moralized,  morality  in  the  old  sense  of 
the  word,  which  implied  a  struggle,  or  self-conquest, 
disappears  —  partly  because  the  altruistic  pleasures 
become  so  strong,  that  the  opposing  egotistic  pleas- 
ures cease,  in  comparison  with  them,  to  be  pleasur- 
able :  and  partly  for  the  further  reason,  that  in  pro- 
portion as  social  conduct  ameliorates  social  condi- 
tions, the  pity,  the  self-sacrifices,  the  lives  of  devoted 
work,  which  we  now  justly  admire  as  consecrated  to 
the  cause  of  progress,  will  disappear  of  necessity  be- 
cause there  will  be  no  place  for  them.  How  shall 
pity  survive  when  no  one  is  any  longer  pitiable  % 
When  sickness  and  penury  cease  to  exist  amongst  us, 
what  room  will  there  be  for  knight-errantry  on  be- 
half of  the  sick  and  poor  ?  " 

"  In  other  words,  as  my  friend  and  illustrious  col- 
league Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  has  shown  —  in  his 
great  work  on  Ethics,  though  he  has  not  expressly 


A  Toy-shop,  and  a  Blind  Alley   345 

stated  it,  morality,  as  supernaturalists  understand 
the  word,  is  not  an  end  in  itself ;  still  less  is  it  a  per- 
fection in  itself.  It  is  on  the  contrary  a  sign  and 
incident  of  imperfection.  It  is  the  effort  of  a  mal- 
adjusted mind  in  a  mal-adjusted  society  to  render 
the  adjustments  of  both  as  complete  as  the  circum- 
stances will  permit ;  and  all  the  self-denials,  the 
heroisms,  the  struggles,  the  agonizings,  and  so  forth, 
out  of  which  many  foolish  thinkers  would  endeavor 
to  construct  a  religion  as  if  pain  and  struggle  in 
themselves  were  ever  anything  else  but  evils  —  are 
in  reality  comparable  to  the  pains  of  a  child  cut- 
ting its  teeth.  When  the  set  of  teeth  is  complete  the 
pains  of  teething  are  forgotten.  That,"  said  Mr. 
Brock  smiling,  "  is  the  last  word  of  Science ;  and 
so,  on  the  present  occasion,  it  may  be  mine  also." 

A  silence  followed  this  abrupt,  and  perhaps  un- 
expected conclusion,  which  might  have  been  em- 
barrassing, if  it  had  not  been  broken  by  Lady  Snow- 
don. 

"  But  my  dear  Mr.  Brock,"  she  said,  "  may  I  be 
permitted  to  remind  you,  since  you  so  kindly  direct 
your  remarks  to  us  poor  women,  that  you  We  only 
kept  as  yet  one  part  of  your  promises.  You  have  n't 
given  us  a  single  word  about  religion." 

"  Religion " —  said  Mr.  Brock,  a  little  taken 
aback.  "  Yes  —  yes.  Well  —  religion  's  a  large 
subject.  Would  you  like  me  to  deal  with  its  origin 
in  dreams  and  the  worship  of  ancestors,  or  trace  the 
evolution  of  priestly  castes  and  ceremonial  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  no.  We  want  you 
to  tell  us  something  about  religion  as  it  affects  our- 


346        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

selves,  or  doesn't  affect  ourselves  —  whichever  the 
case  may  be." 

"  In  that  respect/'  said  Mr.  Brock  graciously,  "  I 
have  surely  dealt  with  it  already,  in  showing  you  that 
morality  is  independent  of  all  religious  belief.  For 
the  rest,  religion,  as  it  affects  ourselves  to-day,  has 
doubtless  a  vast  importance.  I  have  stated  this  in 
not  a  few  of  my  works.  It  consists  —  I  hope  I  make 
myself  clear  —  of  a  consciousness  of  two  things  — 
first,  our  own  ignorance  of  the  substance  or  the  gen- 
eral meaning  of  the  Universe  ;  and  secondly,  the  pro- 
found significance  of  the  completely  evolved  social 
organism,  which,  as  my  friend  Mr.  Spencer  justly 
remarks,  religion  tells  us  has  not  arisen  for  nothing. 
The  time  is  too  far  advanced  —  I  must  I  fear  be  re- 
turning shortly  —  and  my  throat  is  too  much  fa- 
tigued, to  permit  of  my  entering  on  a  more  detailed 
exposition  of  the  matter.  I  will  content  myself  with 
saying  that  religion,  so  long  as  wTe  resolutely  refuse 
to  associate  it  with  an  assent  to  any  moral  or  theo- 
logical proposition,  and  experience  it  only  in  the 
form  of  heightened  and  enlarged  seriousness,  may 
to  many  natures  do  great  good,  and  can  probably  do 
harm  to  none." 


CHAPTEE    III 

WHATEVEK  was  the  general  effect  of  Mr. 
Brock's  exposition,  the  effect  of  the  latter 
part  of  it  on  one  of  his  auditors  was  remarkable. 
This  auditor  was  Mr.  Brompton.  His  face,  which 
at  first  had  worn  an  air  of  pride,  as  though  Mr.  Brock 
were  a  kind  of  colossal  bear,  dancing  to  a  tune  which 
Mr.  Brompton  had  hummed  to  him,  gradually 
clouded  over.  He  shuffled  with  his  feet ;  he  fre- 
quently said  "  Pooh  "  and  "  Pah  "  :  and  finally, 
drumming  on  his  knees  with  a  set  of  impatient  fin- 
gers, he  had  turned  away  from  the  speaker,  and 
stared  indignantly  at  the  sea. 

"  1 'm  afraid,"  said  Lady  Snowdon  suavely  to  him 
when  Mr.  Brock  had  departed,  "  that  you  're  not 
feeling  quite  well.     I  trust  it  is  nothing  serious." 

"  Not  well !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Brompton.  "  No  — 
I  'm  sick  with  disgust  at  what  this  sophist  —  this  — 
this  —  ignorant  wind-bag  has  been  saying.  Only 
wait  till  this  evening  when,  as  you  have  all  promised, 
I  shall  be  allowed  to  finish  my  own  account  of  the 
matter,  I  rather  think  that  then  I  shall  hoist  him 
with  his  own  petard." 

"  I  admire  your  self-restraint,"  said  Lady  Snow- 
don. "  It  is  kinder,  as  well  as  easier,  to  destroy  him 
when  he  is  not  present." 

Mr.  Brompton  remained  moody.  He  was  still 
347 


348        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

moody  at  dinner.  The  rest  of  the  party,  however, 
like  the  courtiers  of  Charles  II  taking  revenge  on  the 
Puritans,  were  inclined,  on  the  contrary,  to  indulge 
themselves  in  an  excess  of  levity,  as  a  sort  of  relief 
after  the  bondage  of  Mr.  Brock's  superhuman  seri- 
ousness. 

"  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Yernon  at  dinner,  having 
mentioned  the  receipt  of  a  letter  which  contained  a 
list  of  the  co-respondents  in  the  case  of  which  Mrs. 
Majendie  was  the  heroine,  "  I  think  that  Molly's 
condition  would  satisfy  Mr.  Brock  himself.  Her 
moralization  has  become  so  complete  that  her  moral- 
ity has  ceased  to  exist." 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Lord  Kestormel.  "  She  identi- 
fies own  happiness  with  the  happiness  of  the  greatest 
number,  and  feels  no  effort  in  doing  so  —  no  con- 
flict of  principle.     Enviable  woman !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Brompton  grimly,  "  laugh  at 
him !  Yes  —  laugh  at  him.  It 's  all  he  deserves, 
and  presently  I  '11  pick  him  to  pieces."  Indeed  Mr. 
Brompton's  impatience  to  begin  this  process  was  such 
that  the  two  sexes  had,  the  weather  being  now  fine 
again,  hardly  re-united  in  the  portico  when  dinner 
was  over,  before  he  himself  pushed  the  chairs  into 
the  position  which  he  deemed  most  suitable,  and 
hustled  Mr.  Hancock  into  opening  the  proceedings 
instantly. 

"  Come  then,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  to  put  the  mat- 
ter into  a  nut-shell.  We  saw  last  night  that  science 
—  which  is  simply  another  word  for  organized  mod- 
ern knowledge  —  is  a  complete  solvent  of  any  form 
of  religion  which  consists  of  a  moral  communion  be- 
tween the  individual  human  being  and  the  Universe. 


A  Toy-shop,  and  a  Blind  Alley      349 

This  morning  Mr.  Brompton  has,  in  fulfilment  of  his 
promise,  been  trying  to  show  us  that  what  we  cannot 
find  in  the  Universe,  we  can  find  in  Humanity,  which 
surrounds  and  shelters  us  with  a  smaller  cocoon-like 
Universe  of  its  own,  and  practically  gives  us  back 
our  anthropocentric  and  geocentric  system.  That, 
as  the  elder  Mr.  Weller  said,  was  c  all  very  capital ' : 
but  in  the  middle  of  his  glad  tidings,  Mr.  Brock, 
whom  Mr.  Brompton  —  it  would  seem  with  some 
want  of  caution  —  had  commended  to  our  confidence 
as  an  Aquinas  of  the  Ethical  Church  —  has  taken 
these  tidings,  and  has,  with  a  sublime  indifference, 
deprived  them  of  every  element  which  Mr.  Bromp- 
ton prizes.  Mr.  Brompton  now  proposes  to  make 
this  damage  good.  Mr.  Brompton,  we  are  all  atten- 
tion." 

Mr.  Brompton  leaped  to  his  feet.  "  Let  me,"  he 
said,  "  speak  standing.  Illogical,  unimaginative, 
stolid,  bloodless  lump  of  learning  as  he  is,  I  won't 
say  a  word  against  Mr.  Brock's  distinguished  char- 
acter. I  '11  only  show  you  how  ridiculously  —  how 
childishly  —  he  's  in  the  wrong ;  how  he  gives  you  the 
play  of  Hamlet  with  the  part  of  Hamlet  left  out. 
He  says  that  the  human  race,  owing  to  natural  causes, 
is  undergoing  a  process  of  moralization.  So  far  he  ?s 
right :  but  then  he  jumps  from  this  to  the  wretched 
and  absurd  conclusion  that  the  tendency  of  this  grand 
process  is,  forsooth  to  exhaust  itself;  and  make 
moral  struggle,  moral  enthusiasm,  virtue  itself,  obso- 
lete. I  'm  not  going  to  waste  breath,  however,  in  de- 
nouncing his  error.  I  'm  going  to  expose  it.  Well 
—  Mr.  Brock's  contemptible  error  is  this.  He  says, 
and  truly,  that  the  process  of  moralization  is  going 


350        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

on:  but  when  he  tries  to  account  for  it,  he  gives  us 
only  the  secondary  cause,  and  leaves  out  —  out  alto- 
gether —  the  vital,  the  dynamic  principle,  which 
alone  makes  it  possible.  According  to  Mr.  Brock, 
this  process  of  moralization  depends,  if  you  please, 
simply  on  the  development  of  two  instincts  —  a  dis- 
taste for  the  idea  of  punishment;  and  a  taste  for 
ethical  acts,  which  arises  from  a  feeling  that  it 's 
nice  for  everybody  to  be  happy  all  round.  Now  if 
we  take  that  answer  as  it  stands,  it 's  nonsense  — 
absolute  nonsense ;  and  I  '11  tell  you  why.  To  make 
any  such  moral  progress  as  that  which  Mr.  Brock 
describes,  we  want  more  than  an  enlarged  good-na- 
ture, and  a  growing  disinclination  to  crime.  We 
want  enthusiasm.  That 's  what  we  want.  We  want 
an  enquiring  and  lifting  determination,  to  sustain 
us  in  our  constant  struggle ;  and  if  you  have  n't  got 
this  —  then,  good-bye  to  the  remoralization  on  which 
Mr.  Brock  counts.  You  will  not,  I  am  sure,  if  I 
speak  of  Christian  martyrs,  accuse  me  of  undue 
partiality  for  the  tenets  for  which  they  died ;  but 
we  see  in  their  deaths  types  of  ethical  victory.  Now, 
the  martyrs  would  never  have  died  for  the  sake  of  a 
few  propositions,  if  these  had  not  been  associated 
with  some  ideal  which  mastered  their  imaginations 
—  which  lifted,  which  touched  their  hearts." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  that 's  perfectly  true." 
"  Well,  then,"  continued  Mr.  Brompton,  "  each  of 
these  ethical  acts  which  in  the  course  of  a  few  thou- 
sand years  will,  according  to  Mr.  Brock,  have  become 
instinctive  by  repetition,  has,  meanwhile,  the  nature 
of  a  diluted  martyrdom  —  it  represents  an  overcom- 
ing of  resistance:  and  each,  in  its  own  degree,  re- 


A  Toy-shop,  and  a  Blind  Alley   351 

quires,  like  an  act  of  martyrdom,  in  order  to  make  it 
possible,  some  certain  equivalent  to  the  martyr's  love 
of  his  mas — "  Mr.  Brompton  was  going  to  have 
said  "  the  martyr's  love  of  his  master  "  ;  but  think- 
ing that  the  phrase  might  savour  of  the  hated  cleri- 
calism which  he  had  escaped  from  "  I  mean,"  he 
continued,  correcting  himself,  "  the  martyr's  longing 
for  the  baubles  of  the  !New  Jerusalem.  And  the 
ethical  equivalent  to  this  is  the  all-pervading  love 
of  Humanity  —  which,  like  a  spark  of  spiritual  elec- 
tricity, is  present  even  now  in  each  effort  of  the  will 
potentially ;  and  which  is  the  aim  of  our  ethical  re- 
ligion to  make  present  and  operative  actually. 
But,"  said  Mr.  Brompton,  pausing,  looking  round 
him,  and  panting  a  little  as  though  with  suppressed 
feeling,  "  if  I  allowed  myself  to  launch  out  extem- 
pore into  this  subject,  I  should  weary  you.  I  should 
also  fail  to  do  my  own  meaning  justice.  May  I  then 
ask  you  " —  Here  Mr.  Brompton  approached  the 
lamp  on  Mr.  Hancock's  table,  and  the  rustle  was 
heard  of  some  paper  which  he  extracted  from  his 
waistcoat-pocket  —  "  may  I  ask  you  to  listen  to  a 
passage  from  one  of  my  own  sermons,  in  which  I 
showed  how,  by  a  mere  dwelling  on  sociological  facts, 
we  find  that  Humanity  does  actually  rouse  in  us  the 
desiderated  feeling  in  question  —  nay  and  further, 
how  this  feeling,  though  we  many  of  us  may  not 
recognize  it,  is  as  a  grand  fact,  operative  in  all  of  us 
even  now,  whether  we  will  or  no  —  ay,  always,  in  our 
very  heart  of  hearts.  Well  —  what  I  said  was  this. 
You  might  have  heard  a  pin  drop,  when  I  delivered 
the  passage  to  my  congregation.  A  hard  Indian 
Colonel,  and  a  titled  lady  were  in  tears.    "  We  may," 


352        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

I  said,  "  predicate,  with  literal  truth,  of  Humanity, 
the  two  main  things  which  Christian  and  theistic  su- 
perstition has  predicated  of  its  imaginary  God.  In 
the  first  place  Humanity  dwells  in  us  —  for  our 
thoughts  and  bodies  are  made  by  it ;  and  in  the  sec- 
ond place  we  dwell  in  it.  That  we  are  dwelling  in  it, 
is,  by  this  time,  a  social  truism:  but  that  it  is  dwell- 
ing in  us  —  this  is  a  truth,  a  religio-scientific  revela- 
tion, which  it  is  the  mission  of  the  Ethical  Church  to 
vivify  in  the  consciousness  of  you  all.  Represent  to 
yourselves,  with  the  aid  of  science,  the  unity  of  Hu- 
manity as  an  organism,  and  each  of  you,  as  a  member 
of  it,  will  be  enlarged  into  its  corporate  life.  You 
will  look  back  on  its  early  days  —  on  its  bursting 
from  the  husk  of  animalism.  You  will  feel  as 
though  science  had  created  a  new  memory  for  you. 
Your  nostrils  will  taste  the  freshness  of  the  early 
morning  of  the  world.  You  will  thrill  with  thoughts 
of  your  race  as  it  was  in  its  eager  adolescence,  when, 
step  by  step,  subduing  this  stubborn  world  to  its  uses. 
Your  consciousness  of  its  life  will  grow  still  more 
crowded  and  beautiful,  as  your  social  memory  brings 
you  nearer  to  our  own  times.  Thoughts,  affections, 
imagination,  the  creative  efforts  of  art,  intellectual 
and  political  movements,  will  make  a  movement  in 
your  own  minds,  like  the  shuttle  of  Goethe's  Erd- 
geist,  or  a  dance  of  electric  sparks,  or  the  racings  of 
your  own  blood.  And  then  turn  to  the  future. 
Quicker  and  ever  quicker  the  shining  shuttle  glances ; 
more  thrillingly,  more  rapidly,  more  perfectly,  are 
the  feelings  and  lives  of  others,  distant  or  not  yet 
born,  made  parts  of  your  own  being.  Our  individ- 
ual existence  is  then  trebly  expanded.     It  reaches 


A  Toy-Shop,  and  a  Blind  Alley  353 

back  to  the  beginning  of  things,  with  gratitude  to 
those  that  have  gone  before  us,  and  who  thus  in  our 
memories  of  them  actually  live  immortal.  It 
reaches  forward  to  those  in  the  future  whose  lives 
shall  be  more  full  than  ours,  and  who  in  their  turn 
shall  make  us  immortal  by  remembering  us,  giving 
us  plaster  busts  perchance  on  the  walls  of  Ethical 
churches,  which  the  faithful  will  look  at,  at  all  events 
once  a  week.  "  That  's  our  process :  but  there  's  an- 
other, which  is  its  converse ;  and  this  converse 
process  is  one  which,  to  us,  perhaps,  is  of  most  direct 
importance.  Just  as  the  individual  mind  expands 
itself  till  it  is  lost  in  Humanity,  so  also  does  it  draw 
the  whole  of  Humanity  into  itself.  The  joys  of 
others  become  more  than  ever  our  joys :  the  sorrows 
of  others  rouse  in  us  a  more  poignant  solicitude  than 
any  which  could  as  a  simple  sociological  fact,  be  ex- 
cited in  us  by  any  pains  of  our  own." 

Mr.  Brompton  was  here  interrupted  by  a  servant's 
voice  at  his  elbow,  saying  "  Telegram  for  you,  sir." 

"  Will  you  allow  me  ?  "  said  Mr.  Brompton  to  the 
company,  with  an  almost  condescending  politeness. 
'  You  're  highly  civilized,  Mr.  Glanville,  in  these 
parts,  getting  telegrams  at  this  hour." 

"  They  are  sent  by  telephone,"  said  Glanville,  "  if 
they  come  after  eight  o'clock,  from  a  house  of  one 
of  my  agents,  ten  or  twelve  miles  away." 

But  Mr.  Brompton  apparently  heard  nothing. 
His  face  was  as  white  as  a  sheet,  and  his  hand  shook 
which  held  the  missive  he  was  staring  at.  Glanville, 
who  was  near  him,  saw  that  something  was  wrong ; 
and,  in  order  to  screen  him  from  the  observation  of 
the  company,  rose,  and  standing  close  to  him,  asked 


354         The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

with  a  careless  air  if  he  wished  to  send  an  answer ; 
"  because,"  he  said,  "  the  people  go  to  bed  at  eleven. 
I  hope,"  he  added,  lowering  his  voice,  "  yon  have  n't 
had  bad  news." 

Mr.  Brompton  was  too  much  overcome  even  to 
affect  the  virtue  of  reticence.  "  It 's  nothing,"  he 
said,  "  except  that  I  and  my  wife  have  lost,  if  this 
news  is  true,  every  single  penny  we  possess.  You 
can  read — yes,  read.  It 's  the  Clyde  Banking  Com- 
pany —  smashed  —  smashed  —  every  single  six- 
pence gone." 

Mr.  Brompton  spoke  so  loud  that  his  news  was 
soon  public  property:  and  a  decorous  expression  of 
sympathy  proceeded  from  the  party  generally. 
Glanville,  meanwhile,  had  been  looking  at  the  fatal 
telegram.  "  Failure,"  he  read,  half  aloud,  "  Clyde 
Banking  Company  —  hundreds  of  families  ruined 
—  bonds  missing  —  if  that  is  concern  in  which  you 
held  shares  hope  you  have  parted  with  them." 

"  Would  you  mind,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  letting 
me  see  that  telegram  ?  "  And  he  almost  snatched  it 
out  of  Glanville's  hands  as  he  spoke.  Mr.  Brompton 
eyed  him  apathetically,  too  miserable  to  be  curious. 
He  started,  however,  a  moment  later  and  some  life 
returned  to  his  face,  when  Mr.  Hancock  exclaimed 
with  a  ringing  laugh,  "  I  '11  tell  you  what  it  all  is.  I 
knew,  Mr.  Brompton,  you  'd  some  interest  in  the 
Clyde  Banking  Company ;  but  this  is  the  Clydebank 
Company,  about  which  I  happen  to  have  heard  a 
thing  or  two.  It 's  a  building  society  —  you  know 
the  sort  of  thing.  It 's  been  a  bit  shaky  —  I  Ve 
heard  that  —  for  a  year  or  two.  If  it 's  gone,  I  can 
tell  you  this  —  half  the  small  investors  in  the  West 


A  Toy-Shop,  and  a  Blind  Alley  355 

of  Scotland  will  be  ruined.  Yes  —  yes  —  I  'm 
right.  It  's  not  '  bonds  missing.'  It 's  '  Bond  miss- 
ing.' Bond  was  the  managing  director,  and  as  ar- 
rant a  humbug  as  ever  sang  psalms  in  a  kirk.  My 
dear  Mr.  Brompton,  I  'm  sorry  you  Ve  had  this 
alarm.  Allow  me  to  congratulate  you  on  the  dis- 
covery that  it  is  quite  groundless." 

Mr.  Brompton  meanwhile  had  been  more  or  less 
recovering  himself,  but  one  of  his  hands  was  pressed 
violently  against  his  heart ;  and  he  seemed  to  ex- 
perience some  difficulty  in  speaking.  At  last  he  took 
the  telegram,  read  it  over  again ;  and  then,  having 
drawn  a  deep  breath  through  his  nostrils,  sat  up,  and, 
with  a  smile,  found  his  voice  again. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  "  for  this  unlucky 
mistake.  A  moment  ago  I  thought  I  was  completely 
ruined.  It  wTas  all  a  blunder  on  the  part  of  a  kind 
cousin  of  mine  —  but  a  rather  officious  cousin.  For- 
give me  —  I  beg  —  all  of  you ;  and  please  forget  the 
incident.  Let  me  see  —  where  were  we  ?  Had  I 
finished  ?     I  can  't  remember." 

"  You  had  just  pointed  out  to  us,"  said  Glanville, 
"  that  the  ethical  religion  substituted  in  the  hearts 
of  each  of  us  — " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Brompton  hastily.  "  I  re- 
member. I  had  practically  finished."  Mr.  Bromp- 
ton's  face,  which  a  moment  ago  had  been  white,  had 
become  by  this  time  an  equally  unnatural  red.  The 
words  "  small  investors  "  had  begun  to  drum  in  his 
ears;  and  his  mind,  by  what  Mr.  Brock  called  a 
process  of  re-representation,  was  making,  on  behalf 
of  others,  a  number  of  vulgar  comments,  on  the  oddly 
unethical  but  still  solid  satisfaction,  which  he  drew 


356        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

from  the  thought  that  these  financial  calamities  had 
fallen  on  a  remote  portion  of  the  sublime  body  of 
Humanity.  "  On  the  whole/'  he  continued,  "  I 
think  I  won't  try  to  say  more.  My  statement  is 
really  complete ;  and  I  'm  thinking  now,"  he  ex- 
claimed, as  a  flash  of  inspiration  came  to  him,  "  of 
all  those  other  poor  people.  I  feel  somehow  as  if 
I  'd  been  saved  at  their  expense.  Shocking  —  shock- 
ing —  shocking !  I  must  have  a  collection  for  them 
—  ay,  I  must  do  that  —  as  soon  as  I  return  to  Lon- 
don. And  meanwhile,  Mr.  Glanville,  if  it  is  n't  too 
late  to  do  so,  I  '11  just  send  off  a  wire  to  assure  myself 
that  we  're  not  mistaken." 

When  Mr.  Brompton  had  disappeared  through  the 
drawing-room,  closing  the  door  with  a  bang,  which  in 
itself  bore  witness  to  the  extremity  of  his  relief  and 
his  excitement,  the  rest  of  the  party  were  overcome 
by  an  irresistible  disposition  to  laugh.  Mr.  Han- 
cock's laugh  was  loud.  His  companions  were  more 
restrained ;  but  such  was  the  effort  on  their  part  re- 
quired to  control  their  muscles,  that  anything  like 
sober  speech  was  for  some  minutes  impossible.  At 
last  Mr.  Hancock,  as  an  atonement  for  his  own  out- 
burst, recovered  enough  voice  to  make  the  semi- 
serious  observation  that  of  all  forms  of  immortality 
ever  offered  to  man,  the  subjective  kind,  dependent 
on  the  memory  of  our  descendants,  was  not  only  the 
least  tempting,  but  also  the  most  precarious. 

"  I,"  said  Lord  Kestormel  from  the  depths  of  a 
low  chair,  "  have  been  forgotten  before  my  death  by 
so  many  delightful  women,  that  I  do  n't  expect  to  be 
remembered  by  many  men  after  it." 

"  Come,"  said  Glanville,  "  I  think  Mr.  Hancock's 


A  Toy-Shop,  and  a  Blind  Alley  357 

mirth  must  be  taken  as  equal  to  a  declaration  that 
our  Conference  for  to-night  is  ended.  Miss  Leigh- 
ton  —  I  know  you  sing.  Will  you  celebrate  the  Re- 
ligion of  Humanity,  according  to  Mr.  Brompton's 
own  practice,  by  giving  us  something  from  the  works 
of  some  non-theistic  writer  ?  " 

Miss  Leighton  rose,  and  followed  by  the  rest  of 
the  party,  she  and  Glanville  went  together  into  the 
drawing-room.  The  piano  was  opened.  Her  touch 
was  soft  aand  exquisite.  She  ran  her  fingers  over 
the  keys,  half  laughing.  "  Do  you  know  this  ?  "  she 
said  presently,  her  words  moving  to  the  music ;  and 
then,  in  a  voice  like  the  low  notes  of  a  violoncello, 
she  gave  to  the  words  of  an  ordinary  composer's  song, 
a  passion  that  held  her  listeners  by  a  kind  of  troub- 
ling spell. 

"What  did  you  crave  for — the  worst  or  the  best  of  me— 

There  by  the  sea  at  the  evening's  close, 
Love,  when  you  held  me,  and  took  from  the  breast  of  me 

Only  the  petals  of  one  poor  rose? 
What  did  I  give  to  you  ?     What  did  I  bring  to  you 

There  by  the  sea  when  the  wind  was  chill  ? 
Love,  was  it  only  a  hand  that  would  cling  to  you — 

Only  a  face  to  be  yours  at  will? 
This  did  I  bring  to  you — last  of  me,  first  of  me. 

There  by  the  sea  when  the  light  was  low — 
Body  and  soul  of  me — best  of  me,  worst  of  me. 

Love,  you  have  taken  me  all,  and  know. 
What  have  you  left  to  me?    How  do  I  deem  of  you, 

Here  by  the  sea,  when  the  night  is  come? 
How  shall  I  answer?     Your  lips,  when  I  dream  of  you. 

Still  are  on  mine,  love,  and  mine  are  dumb." 


BOOK   VII 
Before  Dawn 


CHAPTER   I 

THE  unphilosophic  mood  which  had  stolen  over 
the  whole  party,  in  consequence  of  the  unfor- 
tunate illustration  given  by  Mr.  Brompton,  of  the 
practical  workings  of  the  vital  principles  of  his 
Church,  prevailed  more  or  less  at  breakfast  the  fol- 
lowing day.  Mr.  Brompton  himself  was  almost  en- 
tirely silent,  being  conscious,  against  his  will,  that 
the  mere  fact  of  his  presence  was  provocative  of  a 
general  inclination,  which  was  civilly  repressed,  to 
smile.  Indeed  he  enriched  the  conversation  only 
by  the  grave  and  interesting  announcement  that  it 
would  probably  be  necessary  for  him  to  return  forth- 
with to  London,  in  order  to  open  a  subscription  for 
the  sufferers  from  the  late  disaster.  The  others, 
meanwhile,  were  indulging  in  scraps  of  that  personal 
talk,  which,  according  to  Mr.  Brock,  represented  the 
extremity  of  human  degradation. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon  of  somebody,  "  no  doubt 
she  was  naturally  witty,  but  she  's  been  spoilt  by  liv- 
ing amongst  a  little  set  of  admirers  who,  whenever 

358 


Before  Dawn  359 

she  opened  her  mouth,  said,  6  Listen  to  Mary's  last ' 
—  till  the  poor  girl,  if  she  could,  would  have  tried  to 
blow  her  nose  in  an  epigram." 

"  It 's  such  a  pity/'  said  Miss  Leighton.  "  As  a 
child  she  was  always  surprising  me,  without  the  least 
intending  it,  because  she  said  what  bubbled  up  in  her 
mind.  But  the  people  who  try  to  be  original  are 
worse  than  the  people  who  can  't  be." 

"  Now  there/'  said  Lord  Restormel,  "  was  the 
charm  of  our  late  Ambassador  at  Berlin.  His 
thoughts  formed  themselves  into  wit  as  salt  forms 
itself  into  crystals,  by  a  process  of  which  he  knew 
nothing;  and  his  phrases  crystallized  in  exactly  the 
same  way,  except  when,  as  they  very  often  did,  they 
seemed  rather  to  sparkle  as  champagne  does  in  the 
act  of  being  poured  out  of  the  bottle." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  anxious  not  to  be 
left  out  in  the  cold.  "  He  was  spontaneous  —  that 's 
what  he  was  —  like  all  great  orators  —  like  all  great 
debaters  — " 

"  And  also,"  said  Lord  Restormel,  "  like  all  great 
thinkers  aand  novelists.  Each  thought,  each  inci- 
dent, we  should  find,  if  we  looked  into  their  minds 
narrowly,  surprised  them,  was  thrust  into  their 
minds,  as  if  it  were  not  their  own.  By  the  way,  my 
dear  Rupert,  has  this  ever  occurred  to  you  —  that 
one  of  the  reasons  why  the  heroes  of  even  the  great- 
est novels,  like  the  Wilhelm  of  Goethe,  or  the  Wa- 
verley  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  are  so  apt  to  be  wanting 
in  any  definite  character,  is  the  fact  that  they  are 
not,  for  the  author,  real  people  at  all,  but  merely 
points  of  view  from  which  all  the  other  characters 
are  drawn?     Or  we  may  call  them,  in  each  case,  a 


360        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

pair  of  typical  eyes,  which  every  reader  of  the  novel 
is  invited  to  adopt  as  his  own." 

"  I  should  say,"  replied  Glanville,  "  that  the 
reader  is  not  only  invited  to  do  this,  but  obliged  to 
do  so :  just  as  a  man  who  looks  at  a  picture  is  obliged 
to  look  at  it  from  the  painter's  point  of  perspective. 
Of  course  some  novels  are  not  written  from  the  hero's 
point  of  view  at  all  —  Don  Quixote,  for  instance, 
But  it 's  written  from  a  point  of  view  which  is  so 
far  definite,  that  at  all  events  it  is  not  Don 
Quixote's." 

"  And  women's  novels,"  said  Miss  Leighton,  "  or 
most  of  them,  are  written  from  the  woman's  point  of 
view,  as  opposed  deliberately  to  the  man's.  That 's 
what  makes  them  so  stupid." 

Lord  Restormel  who  was  sitting  by  Miss  Leighton 
laid  a  hand  on  her  shoulder,  from  which  she  adroitly 
disengaged  herself.  "  I  'm  inclined,"  he  said,  "  to 
address  you  as  Holofernes  addressed  Judith, 
'  Thou  art  both  beautiful  in  thy  countenance  and 
witty  in  thy  words.'  Let  you  and  me  and  Mr.  Glan- 
ville continue  our  discussion  in  the  garden  —  shall 
we  say  at  twelve  o'clock?  —  or  soon  as  I've  got 
through  some  letters  that  must  be  written.  Come. 
Rupert,  where  shall  we  three  meet  again  ?  By  the 
fountain  where  the  Naiad,  as  she  bends  over  the 
brimming  basin,  seems  to  be  so  abashed  by  the  beauty 
of  her  own  reflection  that  she  's  always  trying  to  ob- 
literate it  with  a  shower  from  her  marble  watering- 
pot?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  Glanville,  looking  up  as  though 
his  thoughts  had  been  wandering.  Certainly. 
There  's  a  great  deal  more  in  all  this  than  either  of 


Before  Dawn  361 

you,  perhaps,  realize.  If  Miss  Leighton  will  be 
ready  at  twelve,  I  '11  guide  her  and  introduce  her  to 
the  Naiad :  and  if  you  're  not  ready  to  come  with  us, 
we  '11  wait  patiently  for  you  there,  and  Miss 
Leighton  shall  say  to  me  all  those  charming  things 
about  your  poetry  which  even  the  sincerity  of  her 
admiration  won't  let  her  say  to  you." 

Lord  Restormel,  whose  arrears  of  correspondence 
were  really  large  and  pressing,  though  not  exceed- 
ingly pleased  with  this  arrangement,  was,  neverthe- 
less, obliged  to  submit  to  it ;  and  Miss  Leighton,  who 
preferred  the  society  of  the  opposite  sex  to  her  own, 
had,  in  order  to  avoid  the  possibility  of  any  female 
companionship,  judiciously  asked  Glanville's  per- 
mission to  come  to  him  in  his  own  study  as  soon  as 
the  time  for  the  proposed  reunion  should  arrive. 
When  twelve  o'clock  struck  the  door  of  his  study 
opened  and  there  she  appeared  before  him  —  a  re- 
markably punctual  vision  —  in  a  hat  whose  pink  lin- 
ing threw  a  flush  over  her  pale  cheeks,  whilst  a 
sparkle  of  expectation  gave  light  to  the  soft  sullen- 
ness  of  her  eyes,  and  a  smile  hovered  on  her  lips  like 
a  primrose  presaging  spring. 

"  Come,"  said  Glanville,  whose  hat  and  stick  were 
beside  him.  "  If  we  go  out  of  the  window  I  think 
we  shall  meet  nobody.  How  well  you  are  looking! 
When  I  saw  you  last  week  at  the  station,  I  little 
thought  that  to-day  I  should  be  going  to  discuss  life 
and  death  with  you." 

"  My  impression,"  said  Miss  Leighton,  when  they 
found  themselves  in  a  walk  hidden  by  laurels,  "  my 
impression  was  that  we  were  going  to  discuss  the 
novels  of  men  and  women  —  or  was  it  the  merits 


362        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

and   the   demerits   of   forced   wit   and   spontaneous 
wit?" 

"  Perhaps  it  was  all  these,"  said  Glanville,  "  and 
life  and  death  as  well.  And  now,  do  me  a  favor. 
I  '11  tell  you  why  I  ask  it  presently.  Do  n't  say  a 
word  till  we  get  to  the  Naiad  and  the  fountain." 

Miss  Leighton,  who  always  rose  to  any  occasion, 
however  unexpected,  smiled,  nodded,  and  walked  on 
in  silent  and  self-possessed  abstraction.  At  length 
they  arrived  at  a  rock-walled  hollow  in  a  dell,  where 
the  marble  figure  of  a  female,  whose  clothes  were  a 
little  moss  and  some  weather-stains,  bent  over  an 
artificial  pool  with  her  hand  on  an  iron  tap,  which 
allowed  a  small  volume  of  water  either  to  spill  itself 
from  the  lips  of  an  urn,  or  rise  from  the  bottom  of 
the  pool  in  a  tumult  of  shining  bubbles. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Miss  Leighton,  as  they  seated 
themselves  on  edge  of  the  marble  basin,  "  I  'm  at 
liberty  to  speak  now ;  and  I  'm  going  to  use  my  lib- 
erty to  tell  you  that  I  think  you  're  a  very  odd  man." 

"  I  >m  going  to  use  mine,"  said  Glanville,  "  to  ask 
you  what  you've  been  thinking  about.  Don't  an-, 
swer  me  in  a  hurry.     Think  before  you  speak." 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Leighton,  slowly  drawing  off 
a  white  glove,  so  that  she  might  dip  a  hand  equally 
white  into  the  water,  and  looking  as  she  did  so  at  the 
uprush  of  bubbles  beneath  the  surface.  "  I  thought 
of  all  sorts  of  things  —  near  things  —  things  far 
awTay.  A  rose-bush  which  we  passed  set  me  think- 
ing of  the  garden  of  a  villa  near  Nice  ;  and  the  smell 
of  your  cigar  —  well,  I  won't  tell  you  what  that  did. 
And  then  I  thought  of  our  own  chapel  at  home,  about 
which  I  told  you,  and  the  services  and  all  that ;   and 


Before  Dawn  363 

then  —  to  tell  you  the  truth  —  just  now,  when  you 
spoke  to  me,  I  believe  I  was  half  thinking  about  a 
boot-shop  in  Bond  Street.  Thoughts  seem  to  bubble 
up  in  one's  mind  like  the  bubbles  in  this  fountain, 
without  our  knowing  whence  or  why.  Look  how  the 
bubbles  rise  —  dancing  —  bursting  —  jostling  one 
another!  But  who  knows  where  they  come  from! 
Not  this  little  pool  of  water,  which  they  seem  to  fill 
with  life." 

"  That,"  said  Glanville,  "  is  a  very  good  illustra- 
tion. I  suppose  you  'd  apply  it  also  to  the  brilliancy 
of  spontaneous  wit  —  the  charm  of  originality  — 
and  so  on." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Leighton.  "  I  suppose  so  — 
yes  —  certainly  —  certainly." 

"  Well,"  said  Glanville,  "  I  have  surprised  you 
into  a  perception  of  something  which  any  of  us  can 
see  when  once  our  attention  is  called  to  it,  but  which 
most  people  never  notice.  You  have  realized  with 
regard  to  the  ideas  of  the  brilliant  talker,  and  those 
also  which  occupy  our  minds  when  we  are  doing,  as 
we  say,  nothing  in  particular,  that  they  do  n't  come 
to  us  by  means  of  any  process  over  which  we  have 
any  control.  They  circulate  into  our  consciousness 
like  the  corpuscles  of  a  mental  blood:  or  they  gush 
up  into  it  —  to  use  your  own  more  agreeable  image 
—  like  the  bubbles  in  this  basin,  from  an  outside 
source.  This  upshoot  of  sparkling  water  into  which 
you  are  now  dipping  your  hand  had  its  birth  far  off 
amongst  the  mists  and  the  gorse  of  the  moorland. 
Many  of  our  thoughts,  too,  have  origins  no  less  dis- 
tant. But  what  I  want  to  say  is,  that  this,  which 
you  see  to  be  true  with  regard  to  your  own  reveries, 


364        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

and  the  wit  of  a  brilliant  talker,  is  equally  true  of 
every  process  that  goes  on  in  our  minds.  The  ut- 
most we  can  imagine  ourselves  doing  —  even  if  we 
suppose  ourselves  to  have  free-will  —  is  just  what  a 
fireman  does  by  means  of  his  hose  and  nozzle ; 
namely,  to  squirt  or  turn  in  this  or  that  direction 
the  living  waters  whose  force  proceeds  from  our  own 
wills  no  more  than  the  force  of  this  mill-stream  pro- 
ceeds from  the  miller  who  uses  it.  The  next  time 
you  listen  to  any  one  who  is  talking  brilliantly,  no- 
tice the  rapidity  with  which  his  various  ideas  con- 
nect themselves  —  the  similes,  the  analogies,  which 
have  formed  themselves  like  dew-drops  running  to- 
gether, and  which  surprise  the  speaker  himself  al- 
most as  much  as  his  listeners." 

"  I  begin  to  feel,"  said  Miss  Leighton,  "  that  my 
life  is  a  mere  kaleidoscope,  which  is  only  mine  be- 
cause I  can  see  into  it  whilst  something  that 's  not 
me  shakes  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Glanville.  "  This  is  the  conclusion 
to  which  all  science  leads  us." 

"-Yes,  science,"  said  Miss  Leighton,  "seems  a 
doubtful  blessing  after  all.  It  finds  us  like  Job,  com- 
ing into  the  world  naked ;  it  watches  us  clothe  our- 
selves :  it  then  strips  the  clothing  off  us ;  and  it  leaves 
us  at  last  more  forlorn  than  we  were  originally,  be- 
cause the  clothes  we  have  worn  for  so  long  have  un- 
fitted us  for  life  without  them.  It  seems  almost  un- 
believable that  things  really  can  be  what  you  say  they 
are." 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  said  Glanville.  "  But  I 
do  n't  myself  say  that  things  are  really  as  science 
represents  them.     When  I  take  into  account  my  na- 


Before  Dawn  365 

ture  and  my  feelings  as  a  whole,  the  scientific  concep- 
tion of  existence  seems  as  unbelievable  as  the  re- 
ligions conception :  and  I  feel  myself  beaten  to  and 
fro  by  the  battledore  of  two  opposite  falsehoods. 
But  there  's  one  thing  I  won't  do,  and  there  's  one 
thing  which  it  's  idle  to  try  to  do ;  and  this  is  to  elude 
the  destructive  operations  of  science  by  pretending 
for  a  moment  that  they  are  less  destructive  than  they 
are.  Let  them  do  their  utmost;  let  them  do  their 
worst :  and  then,  when  wTe  have  realized  how  they 
reduce  all  life  to  an  absurdity,  we  may  be  able  to 
convince  ourselves,  not  that  they  are  not  true,  but 
that  they  're  only  one  half  of  truth,  of  which  the 
other  half  must  be  sought  elsewhere.  Ah  —  here 
comes  our  Viceroy.  Now,  my  dear  Restormel,  this 
lady  is  waiting  to  hear  you  resiune  your  discourse 
about  novels  and  points  of  view ;  and  I  'm  waiting 
also,  for  a  reason  I  '11  tell  you  presently." 

Lord  Restormel  turned  to  Miss  Leighton  with 
dreaming  and  inquiring  eyes,  and  seated  himself  as 
near  as  he  could  to  her  without  wetting  his  coat. 
"  What  was  I  saying  about  novels  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a 
tone  which  seemed  to  unite  the  interesting  devotion 
of  a  lover  with  the  interesting  abstraction  of  a 
genius.  "  Ah,"  he  continued,  "  to  be  sure  —  we 
were  talking  about  points  of  view." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Leighton ;  "  and  I  wanted  you 
to  tell  me  this.  Why  need  a  novel  be  written 
from  any  point  of  view  at  all  ?  Why  can  't  it  be  a 
reproduction  of  life,  which  any  one  may  look  at  from 
any  point  of  view  he  chooses  ?  " 

"  Every  art,"  said  Lord  Restormel,  "  has  its  own 
special  limitations.     A  sculptor,  no  doubt,  can  re- 


366        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

produce  a  human  figure,  so  that  any  one  can  choose 
the  point  from  which  he  will  look  at  it ;  but  the 
sculptor  can  reproduce  one  attitude,  one  expression, 
one  moment  only;  and  his  figures  are  torn  from 
the  surroundings  which  in  life  would  naturally  be 
theirs.  The  painter  gives  them  their  surroundings, 
but  he  cannot  give  them  their  solidity.  He  can  rep- 
resent them,  that  is  to  say,  from  one  point  of  view 
only  —  namely,  that  which  he  occupies  when  he  is 
painting  them;  and  the  same  thing  is  true  of  the 
novelist.  A  woman,  in  writing,  may  —  though  she 
does  n't  very  often  do  it  —  make  her  point  of  view 
sexless,  by  an  act  of  mental  detachment;  but  she 
writes  from  a  special  point  of  view  none  the  less: 
and,  by  all  the  laws  of  literary  or  mental  perspective, 
this  point  of  view  is  bound  for  the  time  to  be  her 
reader's.  Let  us  take  the  simplest  example  —  a 
novelist's  description  of  a  landscape :  '  Far  away  in 
the  distance  was  a  line  of  purple  hills,  which  sank  on 
the  left  into  a  tract  of  desolate  moorland,  and  rose 
on  the  right  into  mountains  capped  with  cloud.  Most 
of  the  intervening  country  was,  however,  hidden 
from  sight  by  the  wall  which  bordered  the  road,  or 
some  shoulders  of  rock  beyond  it.'  Or  take  again 
the  well-known  kind  of  beginning  common  to  a  class 
of  novels  which  were  in  their  own  day  popular :  c  On 
a  dark  autumn  evening  in  the  year  1730,  three  horse- 
men might  have  been  seen  emerging  from  a  wood 
which  seemed,  in  the  uncertain  light,  to  be  of  no  in- 
considerable extent.'  Well,  all  this  might  have  been 
written  by  a  woman  just  as  well  as  by  a  man ;  but 
in  each  case  you  have  the  ideal  spectator,  looking  at 
what   is   described   from   some   particular   position. 


Before  Dawn  367 

The  horsemen  might  have  been  seen.  Yes  —  by 
somebody  who  was  there  to  see  them.  The  wood 
seemed  large  in  the  twilight.  Yes  —  to  the  eyes  of 
this  same  somebody.  The  blue  hills  are  distant. 
Distant  from  what  ?  From  somebody  who  stands 
on  some  given  imaginary  spot ;  and  it  is  to  the  left 
of  this  somebody  that  they  do  one  thing  and  to  his 
right  that  they  do  another." 

"  I  see/'  said  Miss  Leighton.  "  But  this  supposed 
somebody  in  these  cases  you  mention,  is  at  all  events 
not  the  hero  or  the  heroine,  for  neither  of  them  has 
been  yet  introduced." 

"  JNTo,"  said  Lord  Restormel.  "  Only  in  an  auto- 
biography is  the  point  of  perspective  that  of  one  per- 
son throughout.  In  a  novel  which  has  the  form  of 
letters  there  are  as  many  points  of  perspective  as 
there  are  correspondents :  and  in  a  novel  whose  form 
is  that  of  an  ordinary  narrative,  though  the  point  of 
perspective  for  the  most  part  is  that  of  the  principal 
character,  other  points  also  are  being  constantly 
adopted  and  abandoned,  as  occasion  requires.  The 
same  thing,  I  believe,  happens  in  the  painting  of 
very  large  pictures." 

"  Yes  —  yes,"  said  Miss  Leighton.  "  I  grasp  the 
whole  thing  now ;  but  while  you  've  been  explaining 
it,  I  Ve  been  unintentionally  committing  an  infidel- 
ity. My  thoughts  have  been  wandering  from  you  to 
another  man,  and  to  something  which  that  man  told 
me." 

"  Who,"  said  Lord  Kestormel,  "  is  my  rival  ?  Let 
me  know  at  once,  that  I  may  kill  him." 

"  There  he  is,"  said  Miss  Leighton,  pointing  to 
Glanville.     "  but  spare  him  for  my  sake  —  at  least 


368        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

till  he  's  satisfied  my  curiosity :  for  he  told  me  that 
this  charming  discussion  about  the  art  of  the  novel- 
ist would  somehow  help  us  to  unriddle  the  mystery 
of  life  and  death.  He  will  have  to  save  his  head  by 
a  new  Arabian  Night." 

"  Well,"  said  Glanville,  "  the  moral  of  what  you 
two  have  been  saying  is  this:  It  is  impossible  for  a 
novelist  to  describe  anything,  unless  he  describes  it 
in  terms  of  the  impression  which  it  makes  on  some 
particular  person,  occupying  a  particular  position 
in  point  of  time  and  place.  Distant  hills,  an  ad- 
vancing figure,  hidden  or  visible  features,  an  un- 
known road,  a  person  with  an  unknown  past  —  apart 
from  an  ideal  spectator's  view,  none  of  this  means 
anything.  And  now,  my  dear  Eestormel,  what  I 
want  to  point  out  to  Miss  Leighton  is  that  this  which 
is  true  of  novel-writing,  is  equally  true  of  all  the 
objects  round  us,  as  related  to  our  living  selves. 
Apart  from  the  effects  made  by  the  Universe  on  our- 
selves, the  Universe  would  be  nothing  but  an  un- 
thinkable mystery.  It  is  a  mystery  even  so;  and 
out  of  it,  as  I  was  telling  Miss  Leighton  —  for,  be- 
fore your  arrival,  I  was  giving  her  a  lesson  myself  — 
all  our  ideas  and  hopes,  and  desires,  and  energies, 
bubble  up  into  our  consciousness,  like  the  water  of 
this  bubbling  spring  —  our  consciousness,  which,  so 
far  as  science  can  tell  us  anything  is  nothing  but  a 
bubble  itself.  I  thought  it  might  not  be  amiss,  dur- 
ing the  present  lull  in  our  disputations,  to  go  over 
a  lesson  once  more  —  or  the  least  familiar  part  of  it 
—  which  we  learned  together  the  night  before  last, 
and  which,  if  we  can  't  get  round  it,  makes  a  clean 
sweep  of  everything  which  men  have  till  now  found 


Before  Dawn  369 

valuable.  I  hope  that  bye  and  bye  you  will  neither 
of  you  be  indisposed  to  listen  to  me :  for  I  shall  try 
to  point  out  how  such  a  getting  round  may  be  pos- 
sible —  some  day,  if  not  to-day." 


CHAPTER    II 

GLANVILLE,  when  luncheon  began,  informed 
the  rest  of  his  friends  of  the  manner  in  which 
Miss  Leighton  and  Lord  Restormel  had  been  steal- 
ing a  philosophical  march  on  them,  or  rather  —  to 
speak  correctly  —  had  been  examining  some  of  the 
dead,  who  lay  on  their  former  battle-field.  The  re- 
ception which  his  news  met  with  showed  that  a  gen- 
eral desire  was  once  more  springing  up  for  a  renewal 
of  their  suspended  argument :  and  this,  in  the  middle 
of  the  meal,  was  quickened  by  a  striking  and  unex- 
pected incident.  An  excellent  omelette  had  come, 
been  enjoyed,  and  gone,  when  Mr.  Brompton,  whose 
absence  had  excited  no  remark,  entered  the  room 
with  a  step  and  face  so  solemn  that  everybody 
thought  for  the  moment  that  he  must  have  been 
ruined  in  good  earnest  after  all.  But  a  second 
glance  at  him  conveyed  a  reassuring  impression  that 
the  faith  which  shone  in  his  eyes  could  never  co-exist 
with  ruin. 

"  I  'm  sorry,  Mr.  Glanville,"  he  said,  with  a  lofty 
and  half-absent  mournfulness,  "  that  I  could  n't  find 
you  before.  You  won't  think  me  abrupt  —  discour- 
teous —  I  sincerely  hope  not  —  will  you  ?  if  I  tell 
you  that  I  must  be  going  instantly.  I  Ve  been  at 
the  telegraph  ever  since  ten  o'clock.     It  ?s  business," 

37o 


Before  Dawn  371 

he  continued,  so  attenuating  his  voice  that  it  seemed 
to  be  conveying  a  confidence,  and  making  a  proclama- 
tion simultaneously,  "  business  connected  with  that 
sorrow  of  which  we  heard  last  evening." 

"  Good  heavens !  "  said  Glanville.  "  But  when 
do  you  propose  to  start  %  " 

"  In  ten  minutes/'  said  Mr.  Brompton.  "  I  tele- 
graphed over  night  to  your  agent,  that  an  Irish  car 
should  be  sent  here  on  the  chance  of  my  departure 
being  inevitable.  The  car  is  here.  My  things  are 
already  on  it.  I  have,"  he  said,  taking  his  seat, 
"  just  ten  minutes  to  spare." 

The  obviousness  of  the  fact  that  Mr.  Brompton's 
departure  was  certain  was  a  signal  for  the  expression 
of  many  warm  regrets  that  it  was  necessary.  Glan- 
ville even  ventured  a  suggestion  that  if  Mr.  Bromp- 
ton's business  were  connected  with  the  opening  of  a 
subscription  for  the  victims  of  the  Clydebank  fail- 
ure, it  would  be  well  to  wait  for  a  few  further  par- 
ticulars. 

Mr.  Brompton  by  this  time  had  risen.  "  Ah,"  he 
said,  in  a  voice  full  of  suppressed  feeling,  which  gave 
to  his  departure  almost  the  air  of  an  apotheosis, 
"  that 's  not  the  way  with  us.  With  us  the  heart 
speaks  first,  the  chartered  accountant  afterwards." 

Mr.  Brompton's  exit  seemed  somehow  to  clear  the 
air;  and  when  Glanville  came  back  to  the  dining- 
room  after  speeding  the  parting  guest,  he  found  him 
already  a  member  of  the  "  choir  invisible  "  who  had 
entered  on  a  future  life  in  memorial  laughter  of  his 
friends.  Such  was  the  way  in  which  the  situation 
was  described  by  Mr.  Hancock :  and  Lady  Snowdon 
added  a  further  touch  to  it,  by  dryly  saying,  "It 


372        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

seems  to  be  hardly  fair  that  he  should  have  a  present 
life,  and  a  future  life  at  once;  though  perhaps  in 
his  immortal  state  one  can  appreciate  him  even  bet- 
ter than  in  the  mortal." 

"  Poor  man/'  said  Glanville.  "  In  the  silliest 
things  he  said  to  us,  he  did  but  repeat  the  nonsense 
of  wiser  men  than  he.  Comte,  Emerson,  and  the 
rest  —  all  our  modern  religio-mongers  —  are  merely 
so  many  Mr.  Bromptons  under  rather  more  impres- 
sive masks.  All  try  to  make  five  by  adding  to- 
gether two  and  two ;  only  men  like  Emerson  manage 
to  blot  their  figures,  and  try  to  think  that  a  smudge 
is  as  good  as  the  missing  unit." 

"  Do  you  really,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  bracket 
Mr.  Brompton  with  Emerson  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  Glanville.  "  These  men  are  none  of 
them  fools.  Do  n't  think  I  mean  that.  Mr.  Bromp- 
ton, in  many  ways,  is  quite  as  shrewd  as  most  of  us. 
But  they  're  all  of  them  men  who  are  trying,  by  the 
same  sort  of  system,  to  break,  at  roulette,  a  bank 
which  is  unbreakable.  Emerson  may  have  played  in 
gold;  but  he  lost  it  like  so  much  silver.  I  won't, 
however,  inflict  any  more  of  this  on  you  now.  Bye 
and  bye,  if  you  like,  I  can  put  it  to  you  all,  more 
plainly." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lady  Snowdon.  "  That 's  just  what 
we  're  all  looking  forward  to.  But  remember  Mr. 
Glanville,  up  to  the  present  moment,  you  Ve  done 
nothing  whatever  but  help  to  pull  things  down. 
You  've  still  to  redeem  your  promise  that  you  would 
try  your  own  hand  at  rebuilding  them.  At  present 
you  seem  to  have  left  us  in  a  very  bad  way  indeed. 
We   began  our   Conference  with  the   obsequies  of 


Before  Dawn  373 

Christian  orthodoxy,  which'  were  certainly  conducted 
without  the  benefit  of  clergy.  We  then  turned  to 
Nature  and  Science,  and  we  found  —  I  think  we 
found,  Mr.  Glanville,  did  n't  we  ?  —  that  science  de- 
prives us  not  only  of  our  souls,  but  of  ourselves. 
Then  to  our  surprise  we  were  told  that  it  offered  to 
give  back  to  us  both  our  virtues  and  religion  in  new 
and  superior  forms.  There  was  some  satisfaction  in 
that ;  but  now  it  appears  that  these  offers  have  only 
been. made  in  order  to  be  snatched  away  from  us  — 
that  our  new  progressive  morality  is  a  progress 
towards  the  instinct  of  bees;  and  that  our  new  re- 
ligion is  merely  a  painted  toy,  which  tumbles  to 
pieces  the  moment  we  begin  to  play  with  it.  Well, 
Mr.  Glanville,  having  led  us  into  this  cul-de-sac,  can 
you  yourself  show  us  any  way  out  of  it  ?  To  be  sure 
there  was  the  way  which  Mr.  Seaton  suggested  — 
1 'd  forgotten  that  way.  It  was,  I  think,  the  way  of 
ecstasy:  and  ecstasy,  Mr.  Seaton,  if  I  managed  to 
understand  you  rightly,  might  be  reached  by  three 
methods  —  by  reading  Hegel's  philosophy ;  by  lis- 
tening to  a  Methodist  threatening  you  with  hell-fire ; 
or  by  inhaling  some  gas  which  your  dentist  could 
administer  to  you  for  ten-and-sixpence.  You,  Mr. 
Glanville,  will  perhaps  recommend  the  dentist." 

"  You  're  nearer  the  truth,"  said  Glanville,  "  than 
you  most  probably  think  you  are." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Lady  Snowdon.  "  You  make  us 
doubly  curious.  When  do  you  propose  to  begin  ? 
Thus  far,  we  've  found  you  a  sort  of  Balaam,  who, 
instead  of  blessing  us,  curses  us  in  an  increasingly 
comprehensive  way." 

"  I  '11  begin,"  said  Glanville,  "  whenever  you  are 


374        The  Veil  oi  the  Temple 

willing  to  listen  to  me.  I  will  only  put  first  one 
question  to  all  of  you.  You  say  that  thus  far  I  've 
done  nothing  but  assist  at  the  unbuilding  of  every- 
thing. I  want  you  to  tell  me  if  you  think  we  have 
unbuilt  enough?  For  till  the  unbuilding  is  com- 
plete—  till  the  city  is  a  ploughed  field  —  I  won't 
attempt  the  laying  of  one  of  my  own  stones." 

"  I  'm  sure,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  you  've  left  us 
sufficiently  destitute.  We  should  like  a  little  resti- 
tution, were  it  merely  for  the  sake  of  change." 

"  I  shall  first  have  to  make  you,"  said  Glanville, 
"more  destitute  still;  and  then,  we  will  see  what 
happens  as  soon  as  I  've  done  that.  Well  —  shall 
we  say  half  past  three  in  the  garden  ?  " 

The  proposal  proved  welcome  to  everyone,  and 
matters  were  so  arranged. 


CHAPTER    III 

THE  hour  and  the  garden  found  the  company 
punctual.  The  sun  shone;  the  air  was  as 
warm  as  ever  again ;  and  in  case  the  rain  of  jester- 
day  should  have  left  any  dampness  in  the  ground, 
gaily-colored  oriental  rugs  had  been  placed  beneath 
the  group  of  chairs. 

Mr.  Hancock  was  as  brisk  as  usual,  and  even  more 
than  usually  interested,  for  his  own  position,  and  his 
doctrine  of  the  working  hypothesis,  was,  he  had  so 
gathered,  to  come  in  for  some  discussion. 

"  Come,"  he  began,  "  my  business  this  afternoon 
is  short.  It  is  simply  to  give  you  a  table  of  contents 
in  a  word  or  two,  of  the  different  sides  of  our  sub- 
ject with  which  Glanville  will  deal,  and  the  order 
in  which  he  proposes  to  take  them.  He  will  first 
sum  up,  in  a  word  or  two,  the  conclusion  we  have 
reached  already  as  to  the  manner  in  which  science,  if 
we  consider  it  as  a  body  of  connected  knowledge  dis- 
solves all  forms  of  religion  known  to  the  world' 
hitherto.  He  will  next  glance  at  the  futile  attempts 
that  have  been  made  to  extract  from  science  itself  a 
substitute  for  what  science  has  destroyed.  He  will 
then  turn  from  religion,  as  an  isolated  element  in 
life,  and,  considering  it  in  its  relation  to  human  life 
as  a  whole,  he  will  seek  to  show  you  that  if  this  ele- 

375 


376        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

ment  is  expelled,  it  will  take  with  it  not  only  itself, 
but  many  other  things  besides,  with  which  most  peo- 
ple do  not  regard  it  as  having  any  connection.  Then, 
when  he  has  shown  you  what  human  life  would  be 
like,  if  this  Exodus  were  complete  and  final,  he  pro- 
poses from  the  picture  which  he  offers  you,  to  draw 
conclusions  which  we  will  wait  to  criticize  till  Ave 
hear  them.  That 's  pretty  correct,  I  think,  Mr. 
Glanville,—  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Quite  correct,"  said  Glanville ;  "  so  now,  if  you 
please,  we  '11  start." 

"  May  I,"  interposed  Seaton,  "  make  an  objection 
first  ?  I  Avon't  interfere  with  Mr.  Glanville.  I  only 
want  to  state  a  fact." 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  we  know  what 
you  philosophers  are.  I  hope  you  7re  not  going  to 
take  us  back  into  the  world  of  visions  and  ecstasies. 
We  must  keep  to  our  point :  else  we  shall  arrive  no- 
where." 

"  What  I  want  to  say,"  replied  Seaton,  "  is  strictly 
to  the  point.  It 's  this.  You  talk  of  religion  being 
destroyed.  You  speak  as  if,  temporarily  at  all 
events,  it  were  destroyed  now.  I  want  to  say  that 
this  simply  is  not  the  case.  The  religious  impulse  — 
religious  faith,  if  you  like  it  —  was  never  more  ac- 
tive in  the  world  than  it  is  to-day.  Its  only  diffi- 
culty is  the  difficulty  which  it  finds  in  discovering 
modes  of  thought  and  conduct,  open  to  ordinary  men, 
which  can  express  even  half  its  fulness.  Take,  for 
instance,  the  doctrine  of  human  equality.  Most  of 
those  who  accept  it  think  that  they  accept  it  as  an 
obvious  scientific  truth.  It  is  in  reality  a  doctrine 
of  the  purest  religious  mysticism,  which  science,  for 


Before  Dawn  377 

its  own  part,  does  not  illustrate,  but  obscure.  Take 
again  those  countless  philanthropic  movements  which 
aim  at  alleviating  the  physical  sufferings  of  the  weak. 
The  religious  ideal  is  really  what  inspires  all  of 
them.  They  are  religious  passion  finding  its  vent 
in  action.  I  want  to  say  that  you  ought  to  recognize 
this ;  or  else  your  arguments  will  be  only  half  com- 
plete." 

"  I  am,"  said  Glanville,  "  so  far  from  forgetting 
this  that  it  ?s  the  very  thing  which  I  all  along  assume, 
though  perhaps  you  put  it  in  rather  an  exaggerated 
way.  The  peculiar  feature  of  the  world  at  the  pres- 
ent time  is  not  that  it  is  wanting  in  the  religious  im- 
pulse ;  but  that  this  impulse  can  now  no  longer,  as 
it  once  could,  connect  itself  intellectually  with  any 
scheme  of  existence,  which  the  intellect  will  permit 
it  to  accept.  As  for  philanthropy,  that,  taken  by 
itself,  is  a  refuge  from  doubt,  rather  than  an  expres- 
sion of  belief.  Let  me  show  you  what  I  mean.  ~No 
one  could  have  told  us  more  plainly  than  you,  that 
life  culminates  in  religion,  and  that  all  religion  is  an 
approach,  though  only  with  the  few  an  attaining,  to 
some  mysterious  condition  of  personal  union  with 
the  Divine,  of  which  you  must  not  forget  that  you 
have  given  us  ecstasy  as  the  type.  Ecstasy  —  this 
aperture  giving  access  to  the  Supreme  Mind  —  you 
described  very  well  as  the  open  top  to  a  chimney, 
without  which  no  spiritual  draught  would  be  possible. 
Such  being  the  case,  philanthropy,  if  really  religious, 
must  recognize  its  immediate  aims  as  merely  a  half- 
way house.  When  it  aims  at  feeding  the  hungry,  it 
does  not  merely  wish  to  feed  them.  It  wishes  to 
support  them  as  beings  who  may  come  to  be  religious 


378        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

also :  but  of  what  their  religion  is  to  be,  philosophy 
tells  us  nothing.  We  should  be  no  nearer  to  solving 
the  religious  difficulties  of  to-day  —  the  difficulties 
which  throughout  our  discussions  have  occupied  you 
and  all  of  us  —  if  we  stuffed  every  beggar  in  the 
world  with  bacon  and  plum-pudding." 

"  Would  n't  it  be  simpler/'  said  Lord  Restormel, 
"  if  we  suppose  that  the  aim  of  philanthropy  is  to 
warm  the  poor,  not  to  feed  them  ?  No  distribution 
of  coals  and  blankets  in  January  could  ever  make 
warmth  so  general  as  the  weather  makes  it  in  June : 
yet  I  never  heard  of  summer  as  a  substitute  for  re- 
ligious effort." 

"  I  hope,"  said  Mr.  Hancock  impatiently,  "  that 
Mr.  Seaton  is  now  satisfied.  We  '11  grant  him  the 
existence  of  as  much  religious  feeling  as  he  likes. 
How  is  what  we  vaguely  feel  to  be  reconciled  with 
what  we  definitely  know  ?  That  's  the  question,  and 
I  venture  to  hope  we  shall  keep  to  it.  Now,  Mr. 
Glanville,  perhaps  you  will  go  on.  There  is  the  note 
you  gave  me  of  the  order  in  which  you  '11  take  the 
subjects.  See  —  number  one.  Why  is  science  in- 
consistent with  religious  belief  of  any  kind  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Glanville,  "  as  to  this  first  question, 
though  it  took  us  the  other  night  a  good  deal  of  time 
to  consider  it,  we  can  now  sum  up  in  a  sentence  or 
two  the  conclusion  to  which  we  came.  Science  if  we 
grasp  what  it  means  as  a  connected  whole,  makes 
religion  impossible  for  very  simple  reasons.  Re- 
ligion, besides  implying  a  goodness  in  the  cosmic 
principle,  implies  also  in  man  an  enduring  and  self- 
active  soul,  to  which,  as  an  individual  entity,  the 
Cosmos  is  supremely  good.     Science  not  only  oblit- 


Before  Dawn  379 

erates  every  sign  of  this  cosmic  goodness,  but  it  re- 
duces this  entity  to  a  passing  and  purely  passive 
phenomenon,  which,  even  when  it  seems  to  feel  and 
to  will  most  actively,  merely  feels  and  wills  as  part 
of  the  Universal  process.  If  this  be  the  case,  and 
every  fresh  scientific  discovery  converges  to  show 
that  it  is  so,  Mr.  Seaton's  ecstasies  merely  resemble 
lights  which  are  caught  by  waves  at  some  peculiar 
angle,  but  which  neither  for  these  waves  themselves, 
nor  for  any  other  waves,  mean  anything.  Between 
human  waves  like  these,  and  the  blank  scientific  Uni- 
verse, no  religious  relation  of  any  practical  kind  is 
possible. 

"  Such  is  the  conclusion  which  common-sense  must 
force  on  us.  And  now  we  come  to  my  second  point. 
Men  of  scientific  knowledge,  who  have  also  been  men 
of  the  world  enough  to  realize  that  a  religion  of  some 
sort  is  demanded  by  the  human  race,  have  ever  since 
the  days  of  Comte  been  making  endeavors  to  give  us 
one ;  and  every  religion  which  they  have  offered  us 
has  been  merely  a  repetition  or  a  variant  of  what 
was  offered  us  by  Comte  himself.  Each  substitutes 
for  the  perfection  of  the  lost  cosmic  deity,  the  glory, 
the  permanence,  the  connection  with  us,  of  the 
human  race  as  a  whole.  Our  friend  Mr.  Brompton 
did  nothing  but  give  us  a  version  of  the  main  features 
which  they  all  of  them  have  in  common ;  and  his  ver- 
sion, I  must  honestly  say,  was  by  no  means  a  bad  one. 
Mr.  Brompton' s  message,  as  he  would  probably  him- 
self call  it,  was  no  more  absurd  than  Emerson's.  In 
some  ways  it  was  less  so.  Mr.  Brompton  and  his 
friends  try  to  give  us  a  connected  system:  whilst 
Emerson,  who  is  one  of  their  prophets,  gives  us  no 


380        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

i 
system  at  all  —  nothing  but  a  peppering  of  discon- 
nected profundities,  one  half  of  which  is  really  in 
complete  contradiction  to  the  other  half." 

"  I  'm  sorry/'  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  that  you  think 
so  badly  of  Emerson.  His  Essays  always  strike  me 
as  so  full  of  pointed  and  profound  observations." 

"  True,"  said  Glanville,  "  I  '11  quote  one  or  two 
presently.  But  first  let  me  stick  for  a  moment 
longer  to  Mr.  Brompton,  and  show  you  —  for  this  is 
really  worth  doing  —  what  the  inherent  absurdities 
of  his  Ethical  Church  are.  Yes  —  Miss  Leighton 
—  yes  ?  You  look  as  if  you  wanted  to  say  some- 
thing." 

"  May  I,"  said  Miss  Leighton,  "  tell  you  what 
strikes  me  as  the  chief  one  ?  The  devotion  to  Hu- 
manity which  is  to  keep  us  all  straight,  and  make 
us  feel  so  many  sublime  things,  seems  to  me  precisely 
the  kind  of  sentiment  which  a  solemn,  fussy,  philan- 
thropic free-thinker,  with  no  temptations  —  and  no 
sense  of  humor,  would  delight  in,  as  giving  dignity  to 
the  fuss  which  he  wants  to  make  —  or  perhaps  I 
ought  to  say  to  the  good  which  he  wants  to  do.  But 
take  a  man  of  another  kind  —  and  my  own  experi- 
ence tells  me  that  he  ?s  a  very  much  commoner,  and 
I  may  add,  a  pleasanter  individual  —  who  is  tempted 
to  prefer  the  society  of  —  let  us  say  —  a  Lady  Ham- 
ilton, to  a  meeting  at  Exeter  Hall.  What  would  this 
man  answer  if  Mr.  Brompton  or  Comte  asked  him  to 
desert  his  lady  for  the  sake  of  the  human  race  as  a 
whole.  He  'd  simply  answer  that  one  living  woman, 
who  loved  him,  concerned  him  more  than  a  million 
who  were  not  so  much  as  born:  or  rather  —  to  be 
strictly  accurate  —  I  expect  he  'd  say  *  Hang  Hu- 


Before  Dawn  381 

inanity.'  That  's  what  Mr.  Brompton  to  all  intents 
and  purposes,  said  himself  when  he  found  that  his 
neighbors  had  been  ruined  and  not  he." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  you  're  talking 
excellent  sense ;  but  let  Mr.  Glanville  go  on,  and  put 
things  a  little  more  seriously." 

"  With  regard,"  continued  Glanville,  "  to  this  par- 
ticular point,  Miss  Leighton,  it  seems  to  me,  has  said 
nearly  all  that  there  is  to  say.  So  far  as  the  office 
of  religion  is  to  guide  men,  by  restraining  them,  the 
religion  of  Humanity  is  become  useless,  in  propor- 
tion as  we  require  to  use  it.  It  shows  itself  to  be  a 
mere  toy.  But  perhaps  I  may  as  well  make  it  plain  to 
you  that  it  really  fails  just  as  completely  to  justify 
the  virtues  we  are  inclined  to,  as  it  does  to  restrain 
us  from  the  sins.  The  religious  conception  of  Hu- 
manity, as  Mr.  Brompton  admitted,  can  only  be 
brought  home  to  us  by  an  act  of  religious  imagina- 
tion guided  by  scientific  knowledge.  But  the  imagi- 
nation, when  once  it  has  been  set  free  in  this  way, 
and  has  seen  Humanity  like  a  kind  of  spiritual  co- 
coon —  that  was  Mr.  Hancock's  phrase  —  enclosing 
the  individual  man,  won't  be  able  to  stop.  It  will 
necessarily  mount  higher;  and  will  see  the  cocoon 
dwarfed  by  the  endless  Universe,  and  doomed  like 
its  own  units  to  dissolve  into  the  endless  past.  It 
leaves  our  souls  as  homeless  and  as  much  adrift  as  we 
found  them.  And  how  do  the  hierophants  of  Hu- 
manity meet  this  inevitable  difficulty  ?  Mr.  Bromp- 
ton has  told  us,  not  in  words  of  his  own,  but  in  those 
of  the  great  men  at  whose  feet  he  professes  to  sit  — 
Mr.  Frederic  Harrison,  Comte,  and  in  especial  the 
profound  Emerson.     We  are  to  get  rid  of  the  diffi- 


382        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

culty  by  simply  refusing  to  think  about  it.  We  are 
to  put  it  away  as  a  piece  of  unmanly  musing.  We 
are,  Lady  Snowdon  —  so  says  your  friend  Emerson 
— '  to  overlook  the  sun  and  stars,  and  see  in  their 
fair  accidents  and  effects,  that  change  and  pass.' 
Good  heavens  —  if  this  is  the  way  in  which  we  are  to 
protect  the  new  religion,  it 's  a  pity  we  took  the 
trouble  to  get  rid  of  the  old.  It  's  a  pity  we  did  n't 
take  time  by  the  fore-lock,  and  dismiss  as  unmanly 
musing  the  higher  criticism  of  the  Bible.  But  I 
have  n't  done  with  the  religion  of  Humanity  yet. 
It  has  another  defect  in  addition  to  its  sham  Deity. 
You  remember  how  Mr.  Brompton  insisted  that  vir- 
tue, for  his  Ethical  Church,  meant  before  all  things 
man's  free  struggle  with  evil.  Somebody  said  to 
him  before  Mr.  Brock's  arrival,  that  the  very  science 
whose  authority  he  was  invoking,  showed  that  no 
such  struggle  was  possible :  and  what  was  Mr.  Bromp- 
ton's  answer,  '  Oh,'  he  said,  (  we  must  n't  push  things 
too  far.'  " 

"  I  noticed  that,"  said  Lady  Snowdon.  "  But  in 
spite  of  his  great  sharpness  —  I  'm  thinking  of  what 
he  said  about  the  clergy,  and  their  gaps  and  rifts  — 
the  man's  a  goose.  Anyone  who  contradicts  himself 
like  that,  and  can  't  see  that  he  does  so,  must  be." 

"  If  Mr.  Brompton,"  said  Glanville,  "  is  a  goose, 
he  's  a  goose  in  distinguished  company.  When  he 
drops  his  logic,  and  smuggles  in  at  the  window  the 
doctrine  of  a  mystical  freedom  which  he  has  just 
kicked  out  of  the  door,  he  is  merely  performing  the 
same  contemptible  conjuring  kick  which  Emerson 
was  occupied  in  performing  from  the  start  of  his 
career  to  the  finish  of  it.    Emerson  threw  over  his  old 


Before  Dawn  383 

religion,  which  he  called  '  a  crude  objective  theism/ 
just  as  Mr.  Brompton  and  his  friends  do,  on  phi- 
losophic and  scientific  grounds.  In  place  of  his  old 
God  he  invented  a  quasi-scientific  Oversoul,  of  which 
'  each  individual  mind  is  '  he  said,  '  an  incarnation  ' : 
but  he  took  from  the  house  which  he  was  leaving  the 
whole  of  its  planned  furniture,  in  the  shape  of  its 
doctrines  of  moral  struggle,  and  heroism,  of  the  aw- 
ful importance  of  the  choice  between  good  and  evil, 
and  the  supreme  blessedness  of  what  he  called  i  the 
triumphs  of  will.'  The  great  object  of  our  lives,' 
he  said,  is  '  to  find  our  home  in  God/  and  the  Highest 
will  dwell  in  each  of  us,  if  '  the  sentiment  of  duty  be 
there/  But  how  do  these  teachings  which  he  stole 
from  his  old  religion  harmonize  with  the  science  or 
the  philosophy  in  deference  to  which  he  left  it  ?  Lis- 
ten to  this  sentence.  '  The  creation  of  a  thousand 
forests  is  in  one  acorn:  and  Egypt,  Greece,  Rome, 
Great  Britain,  America,  lie  folded  already  in  the 
first  man.'  That  7s  a  very  well  put  scientific  plati- 
tude :  but  what  more  room,  if  it 's  true,  does  it  allow 
for  choice  and  heroism  in  the  individual  Briton  or 
American,  than  an  actual  acorn  allows  to  the  leaves 
of  an  actual  oak-tree  ?  And  now  let  me  give  you  two 
other  thunder-words  of  his,  as  Carlyle  would  probably 
have  called  it.  e  It  is  the  universal  nature  which 
gives  worth  to  particular  men.'  i  ~Ho  law  can  be 
sacred  to  me  but  that  of  my  own  nature  ' :  and  take 
these  in  connection  with  the  final  doctrine  of  our  sage 
that  i  the  triumph  of  will '  is  to  find  one's  home  with 
God.'  If  the  universal  nature,  which  for  Emerson 
is  God  himself,  created  the  acorn  which  contained  us 
all  from  the  first,  how  can  our  home,  let  us  be  as  bad 


384        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

as  we  like,  be  anywhere  else  but  in  God,  since  all  that 
we  are  is  part  of  him?  If  this  universal  nature 
alone  gives  us  our  worth,  it  stands  to  reason  that  it 
also  alone  gives  us  our  worthlessness :  and  to  talk  as 
Emerson  does  about  the  triumphs  of  will  is  just  as 
nonsensical  as  to  talk  about  the  triumphs  of  gravity. 
If  I  have  not  made  this  clear,  here  's  one  thunder- 
word  more.  Emerson  is  talking  about  our  thoughts. 
1  When  I  watch  the  flowing  river,'  he  says,  '  which, 
out  of  a  region  I  see  not,  pours  for  a  season  its  stream 
into  me,  I  see  that  I  am  a  pensioner ;  not  a  cause, 
but  a  surprised  spectator  of  this  ethereal  water.' 
Here  you  cannot  fail  to  realize  how  he  gives  his 
whole  case  away.  If  we  are  merely  spectators,  not 
causes,  of  our  good  thoughts,  we  are  merely  specta- 
tors, not  causes,  of  our  bad  ones.  Both  come  not 
from  ourselves,  but  from  the  universal  nature, 
which  gives  to  our  personal  nature  the  only  law  that 
can  be  sacred  to  us.  Indeed  he  incautiously  admits 
as  much  himself,  when  he  speaks  of  '  the  depravities 
which  befell  Csesar  Borgia/  and  says  that  they  are 
identical  with  the  depravities  which  '  befall '  other 
human  beings.  Everything,  in  short,  is  a  befalling, 
nothing  is  a  willing  or  a  doing.  Nothing  is  the  work 
of  man;  everything  is  the  work  of  Nature.  And 
now  I  can  show  you  better  than  I  was  able  to  do  a 
moment  ago  what  I  meant  when  I  called  Emerson's 
doctrine  of  heroism  and  choice  a  conjuring-trick. 
When  he  says  that  we  are,  in  reality,  merely  specta- 
tors of  a  certain  i  ethereal  water,'  he,  by  the  adroit 
introduction  of  the  one  word  ethereal,  distracts  our 
attention  from  what  he  is  really  doing,  and  slips  into 
his  hand  a  card  which  was  up  his  sleeve,  and  does 


Before  Dawn  385 

not  belong  to  the  pack  with  which  he  professes  to  be 
playing.  He  tries  to  trick  us  into  believing  that  our 
good  thoughts  are  an  inflow  from  the  Universal  Na- 
ture —  but  that  somehow  or  other,  our  bad  thoughts 
are  not.  He  tries,  moreover,  to  make  us  forget  also 
that  if  the  personal  nature,  which  the  Universal  Na- 
ture has  given  us,  is,  as  he  says  it  is,  the  only  law 
that  can  be  sacred  to  us,  the  triumph  of  our  bad 
thoughts  is  as  sacred  as  the  triumph  of  the  good. 
And  to  this,  Lady  Snowdon,  I  have  one  thing  more 
to  add  —  that  if  we  are  merely  surprised  spectators 
of  our  goodness,  our  goodness  itself  loses  that  one 
essential  element  —  I  mean  the  element  of  active 
choice  and  struggle  —  which  alone  for  Emerson,  for 
Mr.  Brompton,  and  for  all  Mr.  Brompton's  friends, 
makes  it  goodness  at  all,  and  for  which  they  affect  to 
value  it." 

"  This,"  said  Miss  Leighton,  <c  is  exactly  what  you 
were  showing  me  this  morning.  If  our  thoughts  are 
like  the  waters  of  your  fountain,  which  are  fed  by 
some  moorland  stream,  it  's  the  stream,  not  the  foun- 
tain itself,  which  at  times  makes  the  fountain 
muddy,  just  as  at  other  times  the  stream  makes  the 
fountain  clear.  Do  you  remember  that  sentence 
from  Pascal,  which  we  talked  about  when  I  met  you 
at  the  railway-station  —  the  sentence  in  which  he 
describes  us  as  being  all  so  radically  wicked  that  our 
Maker  might  at  any  moment  destroy  us  without  the 
least  injustice.  That  ?s  the  old  fable  of  the  wolf  and 
the  lamb  over  again." 

"  Are  n't  we,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  straying  a  lit- 
tle from  the  Religion  of  Humanity.  I  believe  that 
our  present  business  is  simply  to  polish  off  that :  and 


386        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

we  still,  I  beg  leave  to  remind  you,  have  got  Mr. 
Brock  to  deal  with:  for  I  suppose,  Mr.  Glanville, 
you  '11  give  him  a  turn   before  you  begin  yourself.'' 

"  I  shall,"  said  Glanville.  "  I  shall  give  him  a 
very  particular  turn.  But  if  we  seem  to  have  been 
straying  from  our  point,  we  Ve  been  straying  from  it 
in  order  to  come  back  to  it.  The  Keligion  of  Hu- 
manity is  only  worth  considering  because  it  illumi- 
nates the  desperate  straits  which  the  human  mind  is 
put  to,  when  it  tries  to  find  a  religion  within  the 
prison  of  science.  It  divines  Humanity  is  merely 
a  doll's  blue  tent,  into  which  the  prisoner  creeps,  and 
pretends  that  its  walls  are  heaven;  whilst  his  fine 
free  moral  will  is  a  flower  stolen  from  Theism,  and 
withering  here  because  it  can  get  no  water.  Poor 
unhappy  prisoner !  His  confinement  makes  him 
childish ;  and  his  only  solaces  are  a  game  and  a  dis- 
appearing theft.  It 's  refreshing  to  turn  from  the 
dotages  of  the  Comtes,  Emersons,  and  Bromptons, 
to  the  sound  common-sense  of  a  man  like  Mr.  Cosmo 
Brock." 

"  Befreshing !  "  said  Mrs.  Vernon.  "  I  call  it 
more  dispiriting  still." 

"  Mr.  Brock,"  said  Glanville,  "  except  for  a  crumb 
or  two  of  sentiment,  which  he  throws  now  and  then 
to  Cerberus,  but  makes  no  use  of  himself,  at  all 
events  has  the  merits  of  being  thoroughly  honest  and 
consistent :  and  so  far  as  he  is  able  to  go,  I  agree  with 
every  word  he  said." 

"  You  agree  with  him ! "  said  Mrs.  Vernon. 
"  Why  he  seems  to  make  of  life  a  far  worse  business 
than  Mr.  Brompton  did.  As  far  as  I  understood 
him,  he  seems  to  wipe  out  everything,  though  I  never 


Before  Dawn  387 

had  an  idea  of  this  from  the  things  he  said  to  me  in 
London." 

"  I  repeat/'  said  Glanville,  "  that,  as  far  as  he 
goes,  I  agree  with  him.  Indeed  I  propose  to  take, 
as  I  hope  to  show  you  presently,  his  conclusions  for 
my  own  starting-point." 

"  But  I  thought  —  we  all  thought  " —  Mrs.  Ver- 
non persisted,  "  that  you  were  going  to  show  us  a  way 
of  seeing  in  goodness  and  religion  the  things  which, 
after  all,  are  truest.  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to 
take  us  in." 

"  If,"  said  Glanville;  "  to  virtue,  or  goodness,  or 
morality  you  attach  merely  the  meaning  attached 
to  it  by  Mr.  Brock  himself  —  and  this  is  the  sole 
meaning  which  can  be  legitimately  attached  to  it  by 
science  —  if  you  mean  by  it  merely  conduct  so 
adapted  to  the  needs  of  society,  that  it  ministers  to 
the  happiness  of  others  no  less  than  to  our  own :  and 
if  further  you  mean  by  happiness  merely  any  un- 
specified pleasures  which,  without  injuring  society, 
may  be  pleasurable  to  its  various  members,  I  agree 
with  Mr.  Brock  that  the  development  of  such  a  mor- 
ality as  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  fact  or  the 
idea  of  freedom;  and  I  also  agree  with  him  that 
morality  of  this  kind  must,  in  exact  proportion  as  it 
becomes  perfect,  lose  every  trace  of  the  value  which 
all  religions  impute  to  it,  and  die  into  something  no 
better  than  the  instinct  of  bees  and  beavers.  But, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Vernon,  why  need  this  discompose  us  ? 
Magis  est  non  posse  peccare  quam  non  peccare.  It 's 
better  to  be  unable  to  sin  than  to  abstain  from  sin- 
ning. That  is  the  opinion  of  the  great  St.  Thomas 
Aquinas :  and  you  yourself  would  I  think  be  willing 


388        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

to  admit  that  it 's  better  to  be  incapable  of  thieving 
than  it  is  to  be  always  struggling  against  an  inclina- 
tion to  thieve." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  one  can  hardly 
deny  that.  And  yet  you  yourself  said,  at  the  very 
beginning  of  our  discussion  that  the  essence  of  moral- 
ity lay  in  a  free  choice  of  goodness.  That  surely 
implies  a  struggle  to  resist  something  that 's  not 
good.  It  implies  —  yes,  Mr.  Glanville,  this  is  of 
course  what  I  mean ;  and  I  'm  sure  everybody  else 
means  the  same  thing  —  a  struggle  not  against  what 
is  absolutely  bad,  but  against  something  that  is  worse 
as  compared  with  a  something  better.  It  need  n't 
be  a  pushing  sideways;  but  it  must  be  a  pushing 
upwards." 

"  Ah,"  exclaimed  Glanville,  "  we  're  coming  to  the 
point  now.  The  fact  is  that  Mr.  Brock,  and  all  scien- 
tific moralists,  if  they  honestly  stick  to  their  prin- 
ciples, deprive  the  word  morality  of  one  half  of  the 
meaning  which  it  has  for  you  and  me,  and  indeed  for 
the  world  generally.  Morality,  as  we  understand 
it,  is  conduct  of  three  dimensions.  Mr.  Brock  and 
his  friends  regard  it  as  having  only  two.  For  them 
it 's  a  kind  of  flat-land.  Height  and  depth  are  want- 
ing. It  admits  of  no  relations  except  such  as  are 
lateral.  In  the  scientific  Utopia,"  continued  Glan- 
ville, "  in  the  perfectly  balanced  social  organism,  Mr. 
Brock  expressly  admits,  as  you  may  see  if  you  study 
his  writings,  that  whilst  many  of  the  selfish  impulses 
will  be  counteracted  by  those  that  are  social,  and 
though  all  selfish  excesses  will  in  this  way  be  elimi- 
nated, there  still  will  remain  a  number  of  selfish 
pleasures  with  regard  to  which  the  individual  will 
have  a  perfectly  free  choice.     For  example,  a  man 


Before  Dawn  389 

might  be  just  as  good  citizen  if,  his  social  duties  be- 
ing accomplished,  his  principal  private  pleasure  con- 
sisted in  the  enjoyment  of  a  delicate  but  wholesome 
dinner,  as  he  would  be  if  his  principal  pleasure  lay  in 
art,  or  intellectual  speculation.  Now  the  ordinary 
sense  of  mankind,  though  it  does  not  condemn  good 
dinners,  does,  without  doubt,  rank  the  propensities 
of  the  philosopher  as  essentially  higher  in  kind  than 
those  of  the  most  temperate  gourmet.  It  measures 
the  two  by  a  kind  of  vertical  scale;  but  in  Mr. 
Brock's  Utopia  this  vertical  scale  is  absent.  He  has 
moral  efficiencies,  but  he  has  no  moral  elevations. 
Now,  as  long  as  what  I  call  the  virtues  of  elevation 
are  left  to  us,  the  virtues  of  efficiency  may  die  away 
into  instincts ;  and  the  idea  of  virtue,  as  such,  will 
still  remain  intact  and  command,  as  it  does  now,  the 
admiration  of  religious  people.  But  of  these  vir- 
tues of  elevation  Mr.  Brock  has  nothing  to  say.  The 
citizens  of  his  Utopia  look  knowingly  at  each  other. 
Thanks  to  Mr.  Brock,  everything  they  see  is  intel- 
ligible. They  look  up  at  the  sky,  and  everything  is 
an  unmeaning  blank.  As  Mr.  Brock  tells  them  in 
his  own  encouraging  language,  it  is  unknowable. 
He  prophesies  the  evolution  of  society  into  a  perfect 
organism  —  a  perfect  social  animal ;  but,  for  all  he 
can  tell  us  to  the  contrary,  the  animal  may  be  a 
healthy  pig." 

"  Ah,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  I  'm  beginning  to  see 
light  now." 

"  I  hope,"  said  Glanville,  "  to  show  you  some  more 
light  presently;  but  I  shall  have  to  show  you  some 
more  darkness  first.  But  here  comes  tea.  Let 's 
have  some,  before  we  resume  our  journey." 


CHAPTER    IV 

6  4T  II  TELL,"  said  Glanville,  as  soon  as  tea  was 
V  V  over,  "  let  us  begin  again.  I  said  that 
Mr.  Brock,  and  men  who  reason  as  he  does,  always 
leave  out,  when  they  come  to  talk  of  morality,  half 
of  the  meaning  which  ordinary  men  impute  to  it. 
This  is  merely  another  way  of  saying  that  they  know 
only  half  of  what  human  life  is.  The  very  tempera- 
ment which  fits  them  for  philosophy,  unfits  them  as 
a  rule  for  becoming  men  of  the  world.  In  their  out- 
look on  life  generally  they  are  merely  solemn 
boobies,  as  Mr.  Brock  showed  himself  when  I  saw 
him  at  a  London  party." 

"  I  think,"  said  Lord  Restormel,  "  that  he  told  us 
much  yesterday  when  he  admitted  that  he  knew 
nothing  of  love,  and  cared  nothing  for  poetry." 

"  My  point,"  continued  Glanville,  "  is  this  —  that 
knowing  so  little  of  life,  he  has  not  a  notion  of  how 
life  would  be  really  affected,  if  religion  and  the  idea 
of  freedom  were  lost  to  the  human  consciousness. 
But  what  I  have  said  applies  not  to  Mr.  Brock  only, 
or  the  purely  scientific  man,  of  whom  Mr.  Brock  is 
a  type.  It  applies  equally  to  his  counterpart  —  the 
man  who  is  purely  religious  —  the  man  who  is  com- 
monly said  to  dwell  always  in  the  thought  of  God. 
Religion  for  both  men  is  in  one  way  the  same  thing. 

39° 


Before  Dawn  391 

It  is  practically  identified  with  religion  in  its  un- 
mixed essence,  though  for  the  one  is  a  dwelling  in 
the  thought  of  a  God  who  is  a  fancy;  and  for  the 
other  a  dwelling  in  the  thought  of  a  God  who  is  a 
fact.  Both  men,  therefore,  in  contemplating  the 
extinction  of  religion,  make  the  same  mistake. 
They  think  that  the  loss  of  it  would  be  the  loss  of 
nothing  except  itself.  For  the  one  it  would  be  the 
loss  of  a  something  more  precious  than  all  worldly 
joys ;  for  the  other  it  would  be  the  loss  of  an  illusion 
which,  even  if  pleasurable  once,  will,  when  we  find 
out  its  nature,  soon  cease  to  be  missed.  The  worldly 
joys  which  the  religious  man  disdains,  and  the  man 
of  science  accepts  as  the  reasonable  end  of  existence, 
would  still  remain  —  so  it  seems  to  them  —  much 
what  they  are  now.  What  I  want  to  show  you  is  that 
this  supposition  on  their  part  is  equivalent  to  sup- 
posing that,  if  the  sun  were  extinguished,  we  should 
lose  nothing  but  the  unpopular  pleasure  of  staring  at 
its  blinding  disc;  and  ignoring  the  fact  that  the 
great  mass  of  mankind,  who  never  look  at  its  disc 
from  one  year's  end  to  another,  would  lose,  by  its 
loss,  all  the  colors  of  everything." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  that  they 
would  lose  the  sense  of  wrong  and  right,  and  just 
simply  let  themselves  go  ?  For  many  people,  surely, 
have  seen  and  have  said  that." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Glanville,  "  many  people  have  said 
that:  and  most  of  them  have  made  too  much  of  it. 
As  Mr.  Brock  told  us  with  absolute  truth,  it  is  not 
religion  that  keeps  us  from  being  thieves  and  mur- 
derers. It 's  partly  law,  and  partly  a  social  instinct, 
in  the  absence  of  which  no  society  would  be  possible. 


392        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

I  mean  something  quite  different  —  not  that  people 
would  grow  monsters  in  the  pursuit  of  pleasures,  but 
that  the  entire  character  of  all  life's  pleasures  would 
alter  —  their  range  would  contract,  and  their  finest 
flavor  evaporate.  I  mean  that  the  non-religious  man 
would  lose  just  as  much  as  the  religious;  and  that 
instead  of  rejoicing  in  his  freedom  to  seize  on  every- 
thing, he  would  be  far  more  apt  to  lament  that  noth- 
ing was  worth  seizing.  In  a  word,  I  shall  try  to 
show  you  that  the  effects  of  religion  on  life  are  far 
more  extensive  when  they  are  latent  and  indirect, 
and  are  not  commonly  thought  of  as  due  to  religion 
at  all,  than  they  are  when  religion  shows  itself  as 
definite  adoration  and  belief.  Religion  is  to  life  in 
general  what  radium  is  to  pitchblende  —  or,  if  you 
like,  what  the  onion  is  to  the  salad.  It  is  generally 
most  operative  when  its  presence  is  least  suspected ; 
and  if  we  want  to  justify  religion  in  the  interest  of 
the  specifically  religious,  the  first  thing  we  must  do 
is  to  realize  the  nature  of  its  influence  in  the  ener- 
gies, hopes,  tastes,  judgments,  desires,  and  ambitions 
and  triumphs  of  those  who,  in  the  conventional  sense, 
are  not  religious  at  all." 

"  I  confess,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  I  do  n't  grasp 
your  meaning  yet." 

"  I  had  always  hoped,"  said  Glanville,  "  when  I 
asked  you  all  here  to  stay  with  me,  that  some  such 
discussions  as  these  might  somehow  take  place 
amongst  us.  But  do  you  remember  what  actually 
started  them  ?  It  was  the  Bishop,  when  he  said  at 
dinner  that  a  certain  hereditary  drunkard  was  n't  to 
blame  for  drinking.  And  then,  do  you  remember, 
how  I  set  them  going  about  Marcus,  by  maintaining 


Before  Dawn  393 

that  he  probably  was  n't  to  blame  for  cheating ;  and 
that  nowhere,  except  at  a  card-table  —  for  he'd  cheat 
them  nowhere  else  —  was  there  any  reason  why  his 
old  friends  should  avoid  him  ?  Surely,  Mrs.  Ver- 
non, you  have  n't  forgotten  how  Sir  Roderick,  and 
Dick  Jeffries  too,  were  down  my  throat  in  a  moment. 
And  why  ?  Marcus  was  to  be  cut,  they  said  —  Mar- 
cus was  to  be  treated  as  an  outlaw  —  not  because 
they  were  afraid  of  what  he  'd  do,  but  because  they 
condemned  what  he  was.  His  cheating  was  n't  the 
result  of  some  nervous  twitching  with  his  hands,  due, 
let  us  say,  to  some  odd  St.  Vitus's  dance.  It  was 
just  as  much  open  to  him  not  to  cheat  as  to  cheat; 
but  he  willed  to  cheat,  and  he  cheated.  That  was 
why  they  thought  him  a  blackguard,  and  struck  his 
name  from  the  book  of  life  at  The  Turf.  Well,  Mrs. 
Vernon,  there  you  have  two  men  who  were  speaking 
and  judging  purely  as  men  of  the  world,  and  one  of 
whom  was  certainly  unconscious  of  having  any  re- 
ligion at  all;  and  yet  their  entire  estimate  of  the 
character  of  one  of  their  intimates  depended  on  be- 
lief which  they  could  hardly  express  themselves  that 
a  human  being  is  a  self-deterring  entity — a  free  first 
cause,  detached  from  the  material  Universe.  This 
belief  with  regard  to  human  freedom  is,  as  we  have 
seen,  and  as  I  shall  presently  remind  you  again,  one 
of  the  three  beliefs  essential  to  all  religions ;  so  now, 
perhaps,  you  will  see,  in  a  general  way,  what  I  mean 
by  saying  that  the  effects  of  religious  belief  may  be 
vital,  and  even  violent,  in  quarters  where  religion 
seems  conspicuously  absent." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  I  begin  to  see  better 
now." 


394        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

"  And  now,"  continued  Glanville,  "  having  begun 
with  this  point,  we  may  as  well  go  on  with  it :  so  let 
us  enlarge  our  view  a  little.  We  shall  see  that  Dick 
Jeffries,  when  he  came  back  to  the  dining-room,  and 
said  '  Whatever  a  man  can  7t  help  doing,  I  maintain 
that  a  gentleman  can  help  cheating  at  cards,'  was 
merely  expressing  in  his  own  peculiar  language,  a 
belief  which  lies  at  the  bottom  of  every  estimate 
formed  by  mankind  generally  with  regard  to  conduct 
and  character,  and  which  is  ingrained  in  our  deepest 
feelings,  in  our  conduct,  in  our  language,  and  in  our 
literature.  Think,  for  example,  of  any  biography 
you  please,  or  the  quarrels  of  any  rival  biographers 
over  the  character  of  the  same  person.  Everything 
turns  on  the  question  of  whether  he  possessed  quali- 
ties which  had  —  it  is  invariably  assumed  —  their 
origin  in  the  man  himself.  This  is  specially  appar- 
ent in  relation  to  defects  or  vices  which  one  bio- 
grapher imputes  to  him,  and  the  other  biographer 
denies.  The  first  biographer  says  that  his  man  was 
timid  or  venal.  The  second  charges  the  first  with 
making  base  accusations.  Let  us  suppose  that  the 
accusations  were  erroneous:  but  why  on  earth  are 
they  base  ?  Why  are  they  accusations  at  all  ?  We 
should  n't  call  it  base,  though  it  might  prove  false, 
to  say  of  a  certain  coal  that  it  was  not  good  for  steam- 
ships, or  to  say  of  certain  grass  that  it  would  not 
thrive  in  England.  The  mistaken  imputation  of 
certain  defects  to  a  man  are  said  to  be  base,  and  in- 
stead of  mistakes,  are  angrily  denounced  as  accusa- 
tions, because  it  is  tacitly  assumed  that,  unlike  the 
coal  and  grass,  the  man  had  somehow  the  making  of 
himself  in  his  own  hands ;    and  that  in  dealing  with 


Before  Dawn  395 

him  we  are  dealing  with  an  intimate  something 
which  has  no  counterpart  in  the  things  of  the  mineral 
and  the  vegetable  world.  We  assume  him  to  be  pre- 
cisely the  opposite  of  what  Emerson  incautiously 
said  he  was  —  namely,  a  '  surprised  spectator  '  of  his 
own  faults  and  excellencies.  Who  would  care  to 
quarrel  over  the  character  of  Cromwell,  or  Carlyle, 
or  Henry  VIII,  or  Nero,  or  Voltaire,  or  anybody,  if 
they  were  merely  surprised  spectators  of  what  the 
Universe  and  their  bodies  had  made  them  ?  Half  of 
our  lives  are  made  up  of  our  attitude  towards  our 
fellow  man,  and  the  attitude  of  them  towards  us. 
Personal  judgments,  consisting  of  blame  or  praise,  of 
sympathy  and  appreciation,  or  else  of  contempt  or 
hatred,  make  up  the  very  air  which  our  higher  ener- 
gies breathe,  or  the  food  on  which  alone  they  live. 
Read  the  Bible,  read  Shakespeare  or  Dante,  or  think 
of  the  conversation  at  our  own  memorable  dinner 
here,  and  you  will  see  at  once  that  this  is  so." 

"  But/'  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  you  Ve  been  assur- 
ing us  —  and  I  think  you  were  right  —  that  even  if 
we  adopted  the  surprised-spectator  theory,  we  should 
still  not  only  blame,  but  punish,  both  thieves  and 
murderers." 

"  We  should  punish  them,"  said  Glanville,  "  doubt- 
less ;   but  we  should  soon  forget  to  blame  them." 

"  Surely,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  that  would 
be  the  height  of  injustice  —  to  punish  men  for  doing 
what  they  could  n't  possibly  help." 

"  Justice,"  said  Glanville,  "  would  have  nothing  to 
do  with  the  matter.  Lepers  cannot  help  being  lep- 
ers, but  nevertheless  we  banish  them.  Thus  if  a 
man  was  unable  to  help  thieving,  we  should  put  him 


396        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

in  prison  for  one  of  three  reasons,  or  for  all  —  either 
that  we  might,  by  the  punishment,  make  theft  so  dis- 
tasteful to  him,  that  he  should  for  the  future  be  un- 
able to  help  being  honest;  or  else,  if  his  character 
was  incorrigible,  that  we  might  save  ourselves  from 
the  acts  of  his  person ;  or  else  that,  the  sight  of  his 
punishment  might  inflict  a  fear  on  others  which 
would  make  theft  impossible  to  them,  whereas,  if  the 
fear  were  absent,  it  would  otherwise  prove  inevit- 
able. Our  husk  of  acts  would  thus  far  remain  un- 
altered, but  the  living  kernel,  which  they  now  con- 
tain, would  be  gone.  We  may  now  forgive,  we  may 
sometimes  even  love  the  criminal,  though  we  punish 
and  detest  his  crime.  Under  these  other  conditions, 
we  should  neither  detest  nor  love  him.  He  would 
be  nothing  more  for  us  than  a  suit  of  infected  clothes, 
which  must  be  either  disinfected,  or  destroyed. 
Everything  would  be  gone  that  could  invite  either 
love  or  hate.  And  this  applies  not  to  criminals  only, 
but  to  all  of  us  —  whatever  we  do,  whether  it  be  good 
or  ill.  Everything  that  we  mean  by  the  human  self 
would  be  gone  —  the  one,  almost  the  only  actor,  in 
the  higher  drama  of  life." 

"  A  friend  of  mine,"  said  Lord  Restormel,  "  once 
told  me  an  interesting  story,  which  illustrates  what 
you  say,  and  expands  it,  as  you  yourself,  my  dear 
Rupert,  of  course  mean  that  it  should  be  expanded. 
He  told  me  he  once  tried  to  make  love  to  a  lady  at 
a  time  when  he  was  full  of  those  ideas  of  scientific 
necessity.  He  told  me  that  the  operation  proved 
next  door  to  impossible.  The  lady,  whose  past  had 
been  inviting  rather  than  immaculate,  had  been  do- 
ing what  very  many  interesting  women  do.       She 


Before  Dawn  397 

had  been  preparing  the  way  for  a  new  fault  by  cer- 
tain interesting  allusions  to  an  old  one,  which  filled 
her  beautiful  eyes  with  a  good  many  interesting  tears 

—  received,  if  I  know  human  nature,  by  some  por- 
tion of  my  friend's  coat.  What  the  lady  wished  to 
hear  from  my  friend's  lips  was  some  expression  of 
mournful  and  tender  surprise,  that  an  angel,  in  an 
unlucky  hour,  should  have  done  what  was  not  angelic 

—  have  done  what  was  not  worthy  of  her  own  beau- 
tiful self.  My  friend,  however,  found  himself  as- 
suring her,  that  no  matter  what  she  had  done,  it  was 
at  once  the  only  thing,  and  the  best  thing  of  which 
she  was  capable.  The  result,  he  said,  was  astound- 
ing. The  lady  froze  up  at  once,  and  acquired  more 
virtue  under  this  cold  douche  of  determinism  than 
she  had  ever  possessed  before  under  the  gospel  of 
free-will." 

"  I  can/'  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  quite  understand 
that." 

"  So  can  I,"  said  Miss  Leighton,  in  an  undertone 
to  Lord  Restormel. 

"  If  we  none  of  us,"  Mrs.  Vernon  added,  "  were 
better  than  what  we  do,  where  should  we  be  —  the 
best  of  us  ?  " 

"I  am  glad,"  said  Glanville,  "that  we  are  all 
agreed  at  last.  Lord  Restormel  has  merely  antici- 
pated what  I  was  going  to  say  myself.  Let  us  take 
love  as  the  test  of  free-will  and  necessity.  If  the 
doctrine  of  science  is  fatal  to  the  value  of  love,  we 
can  judge  from  that  of  its  effect  upon  life  generally. 
But  our  i's,  in  the  present  case,  want  a  little  more 
dotting.  Our  friend  Mr.  Seaton  surprised  us  the 
other  night  by  fulminating  at  us  the  Hegelian  doc- 


398        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

trine  that  love  to  be  valuable,  though  it  must  in  one 
sense  be  free,  must  at  the  same  time  be  not-free,  be- 
cause the  lover's  supreme  affirmation  is  that  he  can  't 
help  loving  the  loved  one.  Well,  without  going  into 
the  minutiae  of  this  argument  as  it  stands  —  it  did  n't 
as  we  saw,  apply  to  the  identity  of  raining  and  not- 
raining  —  let  me  put  to  Mr.  Seaton  and  to  you,  an- 
other side  of  the  question.  Even  if  we  admit  that 
the  true  lover  loves  because  he  can't  help  loving, 
the  essential  assumption  is  that  the  necessity  which 
thus  constrains  him,  is  one  which  originates  in  the 
well  of  his  own  nature.  He  is  not  the  nozzle  of  a 
hose  through  which  the  Universe  squirts  its  waters. 
This  assumption,  which  is  merely  another  aspect  of 
the  belief  in  freedom,  and  which  is  a  part  also  of 
what  we  all  mean  by  religion,  is  what  has  given  to 
love  its  magic  for  all  the  lovers  of  the  world  —  from 
Catullus  mourning  over  the  degradation  of  Lesbia,  to 
Dante  gazing  up  at  the  heavenly  eyes  of  Beatrice. 
If  this  belief  goes  —  if  it  passes  out  of  the  world's 
consciousness,  I  leave  you  all  to  judge  how  little  will 
be  left  behind.  Now,  Mrs.  Vernon,  you  must  see 
pretty  well  by  this  time  how  it  affects  life,  even 
when  it  least  seems  to  do  so  —  how  in  all  the  higher, 
the  more  civilized  judgments  and  affections  at  all 
events,  even  the  ordinary  man  of  the  world  —  the 
lover  —  even  the  lawless  lover  —  well,  shall  I  ven- 
ture to  put  it  this  way  ?  —  if  he  does  n't  see  the  light 
of  what  you  would  call  God,  sees  by  it,  or  by  the  light 
of  freedom,  which  is  practically  the  same  thing." 

"  I  understand  better  and  better,"  said  Mrs.  Ver- 
non, "  as  you  go  on.  We  seem  to  be  coming  at  last 
to  a  turning  in  your  long  lane." 


Before  Dawn  399 

"I  hadn't  intended,"  said  Glanville,  "to 
talk  Theology  yet ;  but  I  'm  now  going  to 
take  you  along  a  road  which  will  bring  us  to  it  in 
good  earnest  —  though  at  first  you  perhaps  won't 
think  so.  When  we  saw  that  a  belief  in  freedom,  in 
man's  trans-material  life,  and  also  in  the  existence  of 
some  good  and  accessible  God,  was  implied  in  all  reli- 
gions that  really  deserved  the  name,  we  saw  that  this 
was  so  because  the  essence  of  all  religions  is  the  nat- 
ural desire  of  man,  discontented  with  his  own  condi- 
tion —  with  its  sinfulness,  or  its  weakness,  or  its  nar- 
rowness, or  its  dissatisfaction  with  self  —  to  expand 
itself  into  some  larger  life.  We  have  considered 
this  desire  as  culminating  in  two  kinds  of  fulfilment. 
One  was  an  ecstatic  communion  with  a  real  or  imagi- 
nary God.  The  other  was  a  spurious,  indeed  an  ab- 
surd, imitation  of  this  —  namely  a  toy  union  or  com- 
munion with  Humanity  as  an  organic  whole.  I  'm 
now  going  to  give  you  some  examples  of  the  same 
desire  for  self-enlargement  —  for  union,  for  com- 
munion, for  absorption  in,  something  kindred  to  self, 
and  yet  more  than  self  —  examples  which  are  osten- 
sibly not  religious  at  all ;  and  I  '11  give  them  to  you 
in  the  words  of  a  thinker  who,  in  the  eyes  of  the 
religious  world,  is  more  vehemently  anti-religious, 
and  certainly  more  anti-Christian,  than  any  other 
thinker  of  repute  who  has  risen  in  modern  Europe. 
I  mean  Nietzsche,  who  calls  Christianity  the  con- 
temptible religion  of  slaves.  Nietzsche  declares  that 
the  desire  to  get  away  from  themselves,  and  be  lost 
in  something  larger,  is  a  constant  characteristic  of 
men  in  proportion  as  they  are  great  and  powerful. 
Here  are  some  of  his  instances.     If  we  are  men  like 


400        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

Shakespeare,  he  says,  Ave  long  to  lose  ourselves  in  pic- 
tures of  passionate  life.  If  we  are  men  like  Byron, 
or  Caesar,  or  Alexander,  or  Napoleon,  we  long  to 
lose  ourselves  in  great  activities.  In  one  form  he 
was  possessed  by  it  personally  —  namely  the  passion 
for  speculative  truth,  which,  as  Mr.  Seaton  said,  was 
for  him  a  form  of  religion.  Nietzsche  himself  af- 
fected to  regard  it  as  a  disease  of  genius ;  and  ended 
by  observing,  as  though  he  was  disproving  yet  fur- 
ther, that  the  theist's  longing  for  God  is  a  phenome- 
non of  the  same  kind.  It  is ;  but  I  want  to  show  you 
that  Nietzsche  made  two  mistakes.  The  underlying 
identity  of  these  secular  longings  with  the  theistic, 
instead  of  exhibiting  the  first  as  diseased  or  useless, 
exhibits  the  connection  of  the  last  with  all  the  higher 
human  activities :  and  secondly,  the  longing  in  ques- 
tion is  not  peculiar  to  genius,  but  is,  in  varying  de- 
grees, common  to  man  generally,  and  gives  a  stir  of 
vitality  to  all  men  except  the  lowest.  One  of  its 
commonest  forms  is  patriotism  —  the  latent  sense  of 
enlargement  which  an  average  man  feels,  when  he 
feels  himself  not  as  himself,  but  as  part  of  a  great 
nation." 

"  I  think,"  said  Lord  Eestormel,  "  that  the  pecu- 
liar value  attached  to  membership  by  birth  or  adop- 
tion, of  any  established  aristocracy,  may  be  explained 
in  the  same  way.  It  does  n't  depend  on  mere  per- 
sonal vanity  —  or  the  man  for  whom  it  does  is  the 
quintessence  of  all  that 's  vulgar  —  but  it  depends 
on  the  sense  of  being  identified  with  some  definite 
larger  unit." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  I  quite  agree  with 
you  there  —  though  the  kind  of  vulgarity  you  speak 


Before  Dawn  401 

of,  often  crops  up  where  it  should  n't.  I  've  known 
more  than  one  duke  who  was  the  laughing-stock  of 
his  own  family,  because  he  passed  through  life  look- 
ing at  himself  with  the  eyes  of  his  own  butler." 

"  But,"  continued  Glanville,  "  if  we  want  to  get 
a  clear  idea  of  the  way  in  which  this  longing  for  self- 
enlargement  vivified  ordinary  life,  we  can  of  course 
do  so  best  by  turning  to  men  of  genius,  who  are  types 
of  human  character  made  on  a  colossal  scale:  men 
such  as  Pericles,  Plato,  Caesar,  Shakespeare,  Bacon, 
Voltaire,  Goethe,  Byron,  Napoleon,  Bismarck:  and 
their  case  will  show  us,  on  the  admission  of  Nietz- 
sche himself,  that  a  longing  for  the  fusion  of  self 
with  a  greater  and  grander  something,  is  the  cause 
of  every  achievement  in  thought,  in  art,  in  poetry, 
or  practical  life  by  which  the  nations  of  men  have 
been  enriched  from  the  dawn  of  civilization  till  to- 
day." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Glanville,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  I  more 
or  less  catch  your  drift.  You  're  going  to  work  up 
from  practical  self-enlargements  like  these,  to  the 
mystical  self-enlargements  of  religion  pure  and  sim- 
ple. But  what  I  want  to  ask  you  is  this  —  Since 
these  secular  self-enlargements  are  so  eminently  sat- 
isfactory in  their  results,  why  car.  't  we  take  them  as 
so  many  religions  in  themselves  ?  If  the  love  of  art, 
or  country,  or  scientific  truth,  can  fill  up  a  great 
man's  life,  why  need  we  bother  ourselves  to  look  for 
anything  more.  Surely  tangible  facts  are  better 
than  doubtful  mysteries  —  the  bone  in  the  dog's 
mouth  than  the  reflection  of  the  bone  in  the  sky." 

"  I  wish,"  said  Glanville,  "  that  Mr.  Brompton 


402        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

had  postponed  his  hcgira.  I  think  here  he  might 
have  been  useful  to  us." 

"  Come,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  you  're  laughing  at 
me.  We  do  n't  want  any  more  of  that  stuff  and 
nonsense  about  Humanity." 

"  Well,"  said  Glanville,  "  there  you  are.  No  one 
thought  the  religion  of  Humanity  more  absurd  than 
you  did.  And  why  did  you  think  it  absurd  ?  Because 
like  a  good  sensible  man  as  you  are,  you  saw  that, 
in  order  to  grasp  Humanity  as  a  whole,  the  imagina- 
tion must  make  an  ascent  in  a  sort  of  mental  balloon ; 
and  you  also  saw  that  the  balloon,  as  soon  as  it  had 
reached  the  altitude  from  which  Humanity  looked 
bigger  and  more  impressive,  would  certainly  not  stop 
there,  but  would  carry  the  aeronaut  upwards,  till 
Humanity  shrank  to  a  speck  in  the  gulfs  of  time  and 
space,  and  suggested  no  emotion  but  faint  contempt, 
or  indifference.  Well  —  if  this  happen  with  regard 
to  Humanity  as  a  whole,  it  must  a  fortiori  happen 
with  regard  to  all  contained  in  it.  If  we  are  unable 
to  fashion  a  deity  out  of  all  the  countries  in  the 
world,  still  less  shall  we  be  able  to  do  so  out  of  one 
of  them,  taken  singly.  And  yet  you  may  say  that 
patriotism,  as  a  sentiment,  does  exert  an  influence 
on  men  which  is  often  religious  in  its  intensity.  It 
does.  But,  to  go  back  to  one  of  my  former  illustra- 
tions, I  shall  show  you  presently  that  a  religion  of 
another  kind  lurks  in  patriotism  as  radium  lurks  in 
pitchblende,  and  gives  it  that  curious  vitality  which 
you  impute  to  the  patriotism  itself.  But  first  let 
me  take  three  other  of  these  quasi-religious  objects 
—  these  greater  things  into  which  individual  genius 
expands  itself.   Let  us  consider  once  more  the  passion 


Before  Dawn  403 

for  abstract  truth. ;  let  us  consider  art ;  and  let  us  also 
go  back  to  love.  The  passion  for  abstract  truth  is 
frankly  trans-human.  Its  object  is  the  whole  exist- 
ence of  which  man  is  merely  a  part.  It  is  a  passion 
like  that  of  the  saint,  which  projects  itself  into  the 
supreme  and  the  universal ;  and  there  is  in  the  heart 
of  it  a  faith  by  which,  in  some  ways,  the  saint's  faith 
is  transcended,  because  it  is  a  leap  in  the  dark  —  be- 
cause it  says  like  Nietzsche,  e  I  will  trust  Truth 
though  it  slay  me.'  " 

"  I  have  often,"  said  Lord  Restormel,  "  thought 
the  same  thing  myself.  Many  people  look  as  serious 
as  though  the  desire  which  inspired  it  was  merely  the 
desire  to  multiply  the  practical  appliances  of  civili- 
zation —  railways,  gas,  aniline  dyes,  and  news- 
papers. It  has  given  us  these  things,  but  it  has  given 
us  these  things  by  the  way.  They  are  merely  crumbs 
which  have  fallen  from  that  austere  and  sacramental 
table  at  which,  the  spirit  of  man  breaks  bread  with 
the  Universe.  Yes,  my  dear  Rupert,  you  have  cer- 
tainly given  us  here  a  demonstration  of  how  what  is 

—  well  —  a  form  of  theistic  religion  —  a  cryptic 
theism  —  a  theism  which  does  not  understand  itself, 

—  has  been  practically  the  source  of  progress  in 
even  its  most  material  forms." 

"And  now,"  said  Glanville,  "let  us  go  on  to  art  and 
love.  Our  friend  Mr.  Brock  told  us  that  he  could  un- 
derstand neither;  though  oddly  enough  he  has  sacri- 
ficed the  whole  of  his  own  life  to  that  passion  for  truth 
which  is  really  akin  to  both  of  them.  I  wish  to  dwell 
upon  art  —  and  more  especially  poetry  —  because, 
as  Shakespeare  says,  it  is  a  mirror  held  up  to  nature 

—  a  glass  in  which  man  beholds  his  natural  face. 


404        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

Well  —  the  essence  of  poetry  is  life  raised,  unified, 
expanded  and  elevated  by  emotion.  But  by  what 
kind  of  emotion?  Nietzsche  says  that  the  poet 
—  the  Goethe,  or  the  Shakespeare  —  by  expanding 
himself  into  his  own  creations,  satisfies  himself  and 
achieves  his  rest.  ~No  idea  could  be  more  foolish  — 
more  wanting  in  critical  insight.  That  fusing  and 
kindling  emotion  which  turns  life  into  poetry,  and 
which  shows  in  visible  form  what  life  always  is  in 
secret  —  for  the  humblest  reader  who  appreciates 
Goethe  or  Shakespeare  merely  hails,  in  their  poetry, 
a  something  which  is  already  in  himself  —  this  emo- 
tion is  essentially  something  which  art  can  never 
satisfy.  The  doctrine  of  art  for  art's  sake  is  non- 
sense. A  poem  like  Faust  or  Hamlet  holds  the  emo- 
tion which  inspires  it,  not  like  a  beautiful  animal 
kept  in  a  cage  for  our  inspection,  but  like  a  perfume 
which  is  captured  only  that  it  may  be  continually 
exhaling  itself.  A  work  of  art  as  such,  and  as  con- 
sidered by  the  author  and  by  the  world,  points  al- 
ways, like  a  magnetic  needle,  to  something  or  other 
that  is  beyond.  Of  this  fact,  I  've  given  you  one 
illustration  already,  when  I  pointed  out  to  you  that 
all  the  great  dramas  of  the  world  would  lose  their 
meaning  —  and  indeed  could  never  have  been  writ- 
ten —  apart  from  the  assumption  that  they  must 
have  some  element  of  freedom  in  them  which  could 
not  possibly  emanate  from  the  order  of  things  known 
to  science." 

"  I  'm  not  certain,"  said  Lord  Restormel,  "  that  I 
quite  agree  with  you  there.  There  can  surely  be  a 
poetry  of  fatalism,  as  the  Greek  tragedians  show  us." 

"Yes,"  replied   Glanville,   "but  why  are   their 


Before  Dawn  405 

works  tragic  ?  Why  does  the  doom  of  QEdipus  in  the 
toils  of  fate  appall  us  ?  Because  the  story  throughout 
makes  an  implied  appeal  to  some  sense  on  our  part, 
more  or  less  obscure,  that  the  victim  bound  by  the 
Fates  was  naturally  a  free  man.  On  the  surprised- 
spectator  theory  the  entire  tragedy  of  (Edipus  would 
sink  from  a  tragedy  into  a  not  very  interesting  plati- 
tude. His  involuntary  crimes,  in  their  essence, 
would  be  no  more  tragic  than  his  catching  involun- 
tarily the  measles,  mumps,  or  whooping-cough.  But 
what  I  'm  talking  of  now  is  not  the  question  of  free- 
dom, but  of  some  goal,  some  object  of  action,  towards 
which  in  great  art  it  is  assumed,  or  definitely  stated, 
that  the  freedom,  assumed  already  ought  properly  to 
direct  itself.  We  can  see  this  most  clearly  when  we 
consider  how  art  treats  love  —  the  passion  with 
which,  as  Mr.  Brock  complained,  it  is  foolish  enough 
to  be  mainly  occupied.  What  does  Faust  do  when 
he  wants  to  seduce  Marguerite  ?  He  talks  to  her  of 
what  love  points  to,  rather  than  of  what  it  actually 
realizes  —  and  a  something  of  which  no  man  can 
truly  say  '  I  believe  in  it,'  but  of  which  no  man  can 
say  '  I  do  not  believe  ' —  a  something  of  which  we 
can  hardly  say  more  than  this  — 

'Words  are  but  cloud  and  smoke 
Hiding  the  heaven's  glow.' 

There  you  have  the  light  of  what  theist  and  pantheist 
call  God,  hidden  only  by  a  semi-transparent  veil :  and 
this  is  the  light  by  which  art,  and  all  civilized  life  is 
colored." 

"  Mr.  Glanville,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  excuse  me 
for  one   moment.     You  '11  think   me   a  very  poor 


406        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

crawling  sort  of  a  worm,  to  drag  my  cold  trail  across 
you.     But  surely  you  can  have  fine  poetry  of  a  kind 

—  I  do  n't  say  I  like  the  kind  —  but  still  beautiful 
in  its  way  —  like  that  of  Gautier  or  Baudelaire, 
which  celebrates  a  love  avowedly  vicious  and  sensual 

—  the  very  reverse  of  what  you  are  now  contem- 
plating." 

"  My  answer  to  your  objection,"  said  Glanville, 
"  is  simply  this  —  that  vice,  when  cultivated  and  de- 
liberately pursued  as  vice,  is  neither  more  nor  less 
than  a  species  of  inverted  mysticism." 

"  That,"  said  Lord  Kestormel  moodily,  as  though 
brooding  over  his  own  experience,  "  I  am  persuaded 
is  absolutely  true.  It 's  an  altar  built,  as  one  of  its 
own  poets  admits,  to 

1  The  unknown  God  of  unachieved  desire.'  " 

"  Well,"  said  Glanville,  "  and  now  let  me  go  back 
to  my  own  point  —  to  the  nature  of  the  love  which 
is  more  or  less  vaguely  upwards,  and  which  all  great, 
vitalizing  and  constructive  art  assumes  as  the  type 
of  the  passion  by  which  all  other  types  are  measured. 
I  will  illustrate  this  by  quoting  to  you  a  passage 
which  I  know  by  heart,  and  in  which  such  love  is 
analyzed  with  —  I  think  —  an  unapproached  pre- 
cision. It  contains  the  wrords  of  a  man  who  was  once 
sitting  by  a  woman  at  the  window  of  a  house  in 
Ostia  —  a  woman  to  whom  soon  he  was  to  say  good 
bye  for  ever.  Having  talked  together  intently  of 
many  serious  things,  i  We,'  says  the  writer  —  for  he 
tells  his  own  story  — '  lifting  ourselves  yet  more  ar- 
dently towards  that  which  never  changes,  did  by  de- 
grees pass  through  all  things  bodily  —  beyond  the 
heavens  even,  and  all  the  suns  and  stars.     By  in- 


Before  Dawn  407 

ward  musing  we  soared  even  beyond  these.  We 
came  to  our  own  minds,  and  we  passed  beyond  them 
also,  that  so  at  last  we  might  reach  the  place  of  plenty 
where  thou  feedest  Israel  for  ever  with  the  food  of 
truth,  and  where  life  is  the  Wisdom  by  which  all 
these  things  are  made.  And  what  we  then  said  was 
on  this  wise.  If  to  any  the  tumult  of  the  flesh  were 
hushed  —  hushed  the  images  of  earth  and  air  and 
sea  —  hushed  the  poles  of  heaven  —  and  the  very 
soul  were  hushed  to  herself,  and  by  not  thinking  on 
self  should  transcend  self  —  hushed  all  dreams  and 
imaginary  revelations,  and  whatever  exists  only  in 
transition  —  if  these  should  all  be  hushed,  having 
only  opened  our  ears  to  the  voice  of  Him  that  made 
them,  and  He  speak  alone  not  by  them  but  by  Him- 
self, so  that  we  might  hear  His  word  not  through  any 
tongue  of  flesh,  nor  angel's  voice,  nor  in  the  riddle 
of  a  dark  similitude,  but  might  hear  Him  whom  in 
these  things  we  love  —  His  very  Self  without  aid  or 
voice  from  these ;  could  this  be  continued  on,  and 
other  visions  far  unlike  it  be  withdrawn,  and  this  so 
enwrap  the  beholder  in  their  inward  joy  that  life 
might  be  for  ever  like  that  one  moment  of  under- 
standing, would  not  this  be  Enter  thou  into  the  joy 
of  the  Lord  ?  And  when  shall  that  be  ?  Shall  it  not 
be  when  we  rise  again,  but  shall  not  all  be 
changed  % '  " 

"  Why,  Mr.  Glanville,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Vernon, 
"  that 's  out  of  St.  Augustine !  It  comes  in  a  little 
book  that  was  given  me  by  one  of  my  godmothers." 

"  JSTo  doubt,"  said  Glanville,  "  you  did  n't  expect  to 
find  me  bringing  you  back  to  anything  at  all  like  that. 
Well,  do  n't  be  in  a  hurry  to  credit  me  with  more 


408        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

than  I  really  deserve.     Some  of  you  will  think,  per- 
haps, from  my  dragging  in  St.  Augustine,  that  I  wish 
to  represent  aspirations  towards  a  God  like  his  as  the 
thing  that  is  at  the  bottom  of  all  the  higher  emotions. 
I  do  n't.     I  draw  no  conclusion  of  so  narrow  a  kind 
as  that.     I  have  gone  to  St.  Augustine  merely  in 
order  to  illustrate  the  general  not  the  particular 
character,  of  the  aspiration  which  I  refer  to,  and  of 
its  object.     The  object  may  often  be  different  from 
the  God  of  the  Christian  saint.     It  may  be  very 
much  more  vague.     It  may  appeal  to  sympathies  of 
quite  another  order.     It  may  appeal  to  us  as  the 
essence  of  beauty,  rather  than  the  essence  of  holiness. 
It  may  be  calculated  to  respond  rather  to  a  passion 
than  to  a  prayer.     It  need  not  shine  on  us  only 
through  the  glass  of  Christian  Churches.     It  may 
shine  on  us  also  —  to  quote  a  phrase  of  Ruskin's  — 
from  the  liquid  melted  blue  of  the  deep  wells  of  the 
sky.     Its  eyes  need  not  only  be  the  eyes  of  an  awful 
and  severe  parent.     They  may  also  be  the  eyes  of  an 
infinite  and  unfathomable  lover.    It  may  touch  us  as 
the  Eternal  Feminine,  no  less  than  the   Eternal 
Righteousness.     Athens  and  Capua  have  their  skies 
no  less  than  Jerusalem.     But  whatever  this  Some- 
thing is,  it  is  a  Something  which  is  beyond  ourselves, 
and  which  yet  responds  to  us  with  a  promise  of  future 
union.     It  is  a  something  towards  which  the  lover 
aspires,  by  inward  musing,  just  as  Augustine  aspired 
towards  the  Shepherd  that  feeds  Israel.     Let  the 
loved  give  to  the  lover  what  gift  she  will;    he  will 
feel  that  it  is  only  a  stage  on  a  road  that  leads 
farther. 


Before  Dawn  409 

4  Would'st  thou  me  ?    And  I  replied 
No,  not  thee.' " 

"  Personally,"  said  Lord  Kestormel,  "  were  I 
asked  to  choose  between  these  Somethings,  I  should, 
like  Paris,  give  the  apple  to  the  Eternal  Feminine. 
I  could  worship  the  Universe  more  easily  as  the 
feminine  principle,  than  as  the  male.  Instead  of  ap- 
proaching the  God  like  a  Neapolitan  beggar,  and 
making  an  exhibition  to  Him  of  all  my  spiritual 
sores,  I  should  look  into  the  eyes  of  the  Goddess  as 
Paolo  looked  into  Francesca's,  and  feel  that  my  wor- 
ship of  her  was  not  so  much  a  homage  as  a  wooing. 
But,  my  dear  Kupert,  your  analysis  is  perfectly  cor- 
rect. Not  in  love  only,  but  in  all  great  effort,  what- 
ever we  may  accomplish,  we  stand  seeing  something 
beyond  it  — 

Tendentesque  manus  ripce  ulterioris  amove. 

I  wonder  what  our  friend  Mr.  Brock  would  say  to 
all  this,  could  he  hear  us." 

"  I  know,"  said  Glanville,  "  since  he  can 't  hear  us, 
what  we  may  say  of  Mr.  Brock.  Mr.  Brock  —  and 
his  brother  philosophers  are  like  him  —  I  do  n't 
mean  you,  Alistair  —  you  ?re  quite  the  other  way  — 
Mr.  Brock,  as  he  himself  told  us,  sweeps  love  aside 
as  beneath  the  notice  of  science.  He  really  is  — 
though  the  good  man  does  not  know  it  —  sweeping 
life  aside  as  beneath  the  notice  of  science  also.  Do 
you  remember,  Mrs.  Vernon,  what  I  said  of  him  at 
the  ball  in  London?  He  is  just  as  incapable  of 
understanding  human  life  as  a  whole,  as  he  would  be 
—  to  judge  by  the  look  of  him  —  of  riding  a  buck- 
jumping  horse." 


4io        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

"  I  'm  afraid/'  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  you  '11  think 
me  like  a  devil's  advocate ;  but  I  ask  you  only  be- 
cause I  want  to  know.  It  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Glan- 
ville, that  in  giving  this  mysterious  Something  Be- 
yond as  a  Something  which  we  must  believe  in,  if 
we  would  live  like  reasonable  beings,  you  are  prac- 
tically coming  back  to  Mr.  Seaton's  doctrine  that 
ecstasy  is  a  genuine  insight  into  the  truth  of  things 
after  all  —  that  it  points  to  some  Goodness,  or  if  you 
like  some  divine  Beauty,  which  really  is  the  prin- 
ciple of  the  Universe,  and  with  which  we  may  put 
ourselves  in  connection.  But  when  Mr.  Seaton  said 
this,  you  all  combined  to  sit  on  him,  and  to  dismiss 
his  view  as  an  illusion." 

"  I  have  not  said,"  replied  Glanville,  "  that  it  is 
not  an  illusion  now.  As  to  that,  if  you  are  good 
enough  to  listen  to  me,  I  propose  to  say  more  here- 
after. The  only  point  which  I  have  tried  to  make 
clear  now  is  that  if  it  is  an  illusion,  it  is  an  illusion 
of  such  efficiency,  that  it  forms  the  most  vivifying 
element  in  the  civilized  life  of  man,  and  that  all 
human  morality  which  is  more  than  the  morality  of 
an  ant-hill,  is  radio-active  with  its  recognized  or 
secret  presence.  And  now,"  Glanville  continued, 
"  we  've  seen  the  importance  to  life  of  two  of  those 
three  beliefs  which  are  the  intellectual  basis  of  The- 
ism —  a  belief  in  some  God,  or  his  equivalent ;  and 
a  belief  in  human  freedom.  As  to  the  importance  of 
the  last,  our  chairman  is  an  unbiased  witness.  We 
must  believe  we  are  free,  Hancock,  whether  we  are 
really  free  or  no ;  otherwise  we  could  n't  get  on. 
That 's  your  doctrine,  is  n't  it  ?  " 


Before  Dawn  411 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  I  do  n't  go  back  on 
that  —  not  one  little  bit.  We  must,  as  I  told  the 
Bishop,  assume  freedom  as  a  sort  of  working  hypo- 
thesis.    I  confess  that  seems  good  enough  for  me." 

"  And  possibly,"  said  Glanville,  "  it  is  good  enough 
for  us  too.  We  '11  talk  about  that  later.  But 
there  's  one  more  doctrine  as  to  which  I  must  still 
say  something  now.  Let  us  take  our  belief  in  free- 
dom and  God  for  granted,  and  let  us  suppose  that  by 
their  radio-activity,  life  is  given  us  as  a  drama  of 
free  choices  and  efforts,  and  of  what  religious  people 
would  call  an  upward,  or  a  God-ward  struggle.  But 
in  order  to  perpetuate  this  effort  and  struggle,  some- 
thing is  still  wanting.  We  must  recognize,  as  a  mat- 
ter beyond  question,  that  this  struggle  is  of  supreme 
importance.  The  old  beliefs  may  give  form  to  life. 
This  one  is  absolutely  necessary,  in  order  to  give  it 
magnitude.  Otherwise,  let  men  choose  and  aspire, 
succeed  or  fail  as  they  will,  they  will  seem  to  us  little 
better  than  choosing  and  aspiring  toys,  whose  suc- 
cess or  failure  will  mean  nothing  when  the  day's 
game  is  over,  and  they  are  broken  or  put  back  in  the 
toybox.  Well  —  this  sense  of  life's  importance  can 
be  given  in  one  way  only  —  and  that  is  by  our  third 
belief  that  the  soul  of  man  is  immortal  —  immortal 
in  the  sense  that,  even  if  its  final  destiny  is  Nirvana, 
the  consequences  of  the  deeds  done  to-day  in  the 
body,  do  not  end  when  the  body  is  dust  or  carrion, 
but,  for  good  or  evil,  renew  themselves  in  some  far- 
ther life.  The  ordinary  religious  person  looks  on 
the  doctrine  of  immortality  merely  as  a  sort  of  tele- 
scope, through  which  we  may  see  a  heaven  where 


412        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

psalm-singing  never  ends.  It  is  just  as  important 
to  the  ordinary  man  of  the  world  —  to  the  lover,  the 
poet,  the  statesman,  the  builder  of  kingdoms  —  as 
a  sort  of  mental  magnifying-glass  through  which  we 
may  see  earth.  Apart  from  this  belief,  a  moment 
of  clear  reflection  will  be  enough  to  turn  any  one  of 
us  into  his  own  Gulliver,  and  will  show  him  the  freest 
and  most  aspiring  hero  imaginable  as  nothing  but 
a  manikin  posturing  in  a  doll's  theatre,  who  raises 
a  laugh  by  tearing  a  passion  to  tatters." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  who  though  he 
did  not  much  like  these  observations,  regarding  them 
almost  as  an  affront  to  his  own  success  in  life,  was 
always  anxious  to  show  his  wide  grasp  of  a  situation, 
"  I  suppose  you  mean  what  Goethe  seems  to  have 
meant,  when  he  said  in  one  of  his  poems  —  a  favor- 
ite of  dear  old  grand  Carlyle  's  —  now  there  was  a 
hero  if  you  like  — 

*  Choose  well,  and  your  choice  is 
Brief,  but  yet  endless.'  " 

"Precisely,"  said  Glanville.  "That  just  ex- 
presses my  meaning." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  who  feeling  that  he 
had  made  a  point,  saw  an  opportunity  of  retiring 
with  flying  colors,  "  how  goes  the  enemy  %  "  And  he 
took  his  watch  from  his  pocket.  "  Good  gracious," 
he  said,  "  do  you  know  what  time  it  is  ?  We  have, 
Mr.  Glanville,  still  a  great  deal  more  to  hear  from 
you ;  so  as  this  seems  a  good  break  in  your  argument, 
we  had  better  bring  down  our  thoughts  to  the  process 
of  dressing  for  dinner." 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Glanville,  "  for  the  sake  of  a 


Before  Dawn  413 

little  variety,  as  the  night  promises  to  be  as  warm 
again  as  ever,  I  thought  that  instead  of  sitting  on  the 
terrace  or  in  the  portico,  we  'd  have  our  tea  after 
dinner,  in  front  of  the  old  abbey." 


CHAPTER   V 

U    A  RE  these  the  notes  of  what  you  are  going  to 

^t\     say  to  us  presently  ?  " 

The  question  was  addressed  by  Miss  Leighton  to 
her  host  at  a  tea-table,  on  which  were  a  pile  of 
packets  in  large  envelopes.  The  table,  lit  by  can- 
dles, whose  flames  shone  steady  and  motionless,  was 
placed  under  the  full  moon  by  the  door  of  the  ruined 
chapel ;  and  the  party  was  gathered  round  it  wrapped 
in  great-coats  and  opera-cloaks.  The  sound  of  the 
sea  came  faintly  from  far  below ;  and  the  dome  of 
the  sky,  cloudless  and  quick  with  stars,  rose  from 
the  quivering  silver  at  a  distance  which  seemed  in- 
calculable. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Glanville,  "  that  these  documents, 
which  the  post  must  have  just  brought,  bore  on  any 
question  so  interesting  as  those  on  which  I  hope  to 
speak  to  you.  I  know  what  is  in  them  from  the 
envelopes,  and  I  know  that  they  come  from  certain 
very  importunate  friends  of  mine,  who  are  anxious 
that  I  should  leave  everything  in  order  to  devote 
my  mind  to  them.  The  great  question  which,  in  one 
form  or  another,  has  been  occupying  our  minds  here 
ever  since  our  Bishop  left  us,  has  been,  '  What  shall 
it  profit  a  man,  if  he  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose 
his  own  soul  ? '     My  importunate  friends,  in  these 

414 


Before  Dawn  415 

documents,  are  proposing  to  me  a  variety  of  others. 
The  following  will,  I  know,  be  some  of  them.  How 
many  more  hundreds  of  thousands  of  white  thread 
stockings  do  we  import  from  Germany  than  we  did 
twenty  years  ago  ?  How  many  miles  of  the  shirt- 
ings, trouserings,  and  cambrics  manufactured  in  this 
country  are  kept  to  cover  British  bodies  and  be  blown 
into  by  British  noses?  Is  the  increase  in  our  im- 
ports of  Canadian  cheese  balanced  by  the  increase  in 
our  exports  of  oleo-margarine  ?  " 

"  You  do  n't  mean  to  tell  me,"  said  Miss  Leighton, 
"  that  anybody  wants  you  to  busy  yourself  with  stuff 
like  that?" 

"  I  was  busy,"  said  Glanville,  "  with  questions  of 
the  same  kind  for  three  hours  last  night,  after  you 
had  sung  your  song.  As  to  questions  like  these, 
there  's  a  chance  of  knowing  where  one  is.  I  wonder 
if  I  shall  be  able  to  show  you  where  we  are  as  to 
others  ?  When  we  We  done  tea,  I  shall  try.  Shall 
we  stay  where  we  are,  or  would  you  rather  go  inside  ? 
There  are  chairs  there,  and  a  lamp  also." 

A  sense  of  the  romantic,  and  perhaps  of  something 
else,  made  everyone  decide  in  favor  of  an  adjourn- 
ment to  the  chapel,  where,  as  soon  as  they  were 
seated,  Mr.  Hancock  opened  the  proceedings,  briefly 
observing  that  Mr.  Glanville  would  take  up  the 
thread  of  his  argument  at  the  point  where  it  had 
been  lately  dropped.  "  Mr.  Glanville,"  he  said, 
"  had  just  finished  pointing  out  to  us  the  practical 
part  played  by  religious  belief,  not  in  the  religious 
life,  but  the  life  of  the  world  generally;  and  the 
practical  change  for  the  worse  —  here  in  many  ways 
I  agree  with  him  —  which  would  result  if  this  belief 


416        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

were  withdrawn  from  the  human  consciousness.  I 
do  n't  know,  though,"  he  muttered,  as  he  settled  him- 
self into  an  attitude  of  attention,  "that  this  fact 
makes  the  belief  any  truer." 

"  My  dear  Hancock,"  said  Glanville,  "  there 's  the 
point  we  are  coming  to.  Does  the  practical  value  of 
the  belief  or  beliefs  in  question  show  that  they  cor- 
respond to  any  external  fact  ?  Now  —  let  us  get  to 
business.  We  have  two  ways  proposed  to  us  of  in- 
terpreting human  life.  One  is  the  way  of  religion. 
The  other  is  the  way  of  science.  Science  exhibits 
man  as  a  bubble  on  the  universal  substance ;  and  it 
does  this  now  in  a  way  so  convincing  to  the  reason, 
that  no  one  would  be  tempted  to  question  the  account 
it  gives  us,  if  it  were  not  for  certain  consequences 
against  which  our  nature  rebels.  The  mental  bubble 
has  no  sooner  been  formed  than  it  puts  forth  a  claim 
to  qualities  which  its  parent  could  not  have  given  it, 
and  imputes  qualities  to  the  parent  of  which  the  pa- 
rent gives  no  signs.  This  behavior,  in  the  light  of 
advancing  knowledge,  seems  hardly  more  reasonable 
than  the  aimless  struggles  of  a  child ;  and  the  mind 
would  by-and-by  probably  cease  making  them,  if  it 
were  not  for  one  curious  fact.  In  proportion  as  the 
mind  does  make  them,  energy,  civilization,  even  sci- 
ence itself,  and  all  the  more  elaborate  pleasures  of 
human  life,  develop  themselves;  and  tend  to 
dwindle  and  disappear  in  proportion  as  the  struggle 
ceases.  Here,  accordingly,  we  get  a  certain  argu- 
ment from  results,  which  is  more  than  a  vague  senti- 
ment. It  is  an  appeal  to  practical  common  sense, 
and  may  briefly  be  put  in  this  way.  If  we  find,  as  a 
solid  fact  of  experience  that  a  certain  method  of  ex- 


Before  Dawn  417 

plaining  and  viewing  existence  is,  when  pursued  ex- 
clusively, destructive  of  that  which  everybody  re- 
gards as  civilization  and  progress,  the  probability  is 
strong  that  this  method,  however  complete  it  seems, 
has  failed  to  take  cognizance  of  certain  actual  facts ; 
and  further,  if  the  opposite  method,  let  it  seem  never 
so  irrational,  is  found  to  produce  civilization  as 
surely  as  the  other  destroys  it,  there  is  a  correspond- 
ing probability  that  this  method  has  hit  these  actual 
facts  which  the  other  has  somehow  missed." 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  in  my  Diction- 
ary of  Contemporary  Life,  I  think  I  published  an 
article  about  some  American  thinker,  who  reasoned 
very  much  as  you  do,  and  invented  for  his  method 
some  new  label.  Was  it  i  pragmatism '  ?  At  all 
events,  it  meant  the  theory  that  the  truth  of  a  re- 
ligious doctrine  is  best  tested  by  its  practical  effects 
on  the  believers  in  it." 

"  The  argument,"  said  Glanville,  "  in  itself  is  more 
or  less  instinctive  in  all  of  us.  The  Church  of  Rome 
was  pragmatic  when  it  locked  up  Galileo.  But  the 
force  of  the  argument  altogether  depends  on  the 
number  and  character  of  the  effects  which  the  re- 
ligious belief  produces,  and  the  number  and  charac- 
ter of  the  effects  which  an  opposite  belief  destroys." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Hancock.  "  Some  people,  no 
doubt,  are  very  fond  of  church-going :  and,  according 
to  this  method,  they  would,  I  suppose,  argue  that  re- 
ligious belief  must  be  true  because  it  results  in 
psalms  and  services,  whilst  science  must  be  false  be- 
cause it  would  rob  them  of  these  consolations.  But 
other  people  would  argue  in  precisely  the  opposite 
way.     They  would  say  that  science  must  be  true  be- 


418        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

cause  it  shuts  the  churches  up,  and  instead  of  the 
Sabbath  gives  them  a  new  bank-holiday." 

"  That 's  what  I  mean/'  said  Glanville.  "  In  test- 
ing both  religion  and  the  negation  of  religion  by  their 
results,  religious  people  make  the  mistake  of  restrict- 
ing the  scope  of  their  enquiry.  They  consider  these 
results  only  in  their  relation  to  the  consciously  re- 
ligious—  the  class  to  which  church-going,  or  its 
equivalent,  represents  the  chief  need  in  life.  This 
appeal  is  far  too  narrow  to  be  effective.  If  this  is 
the  whole  of  the  matter,  the  mass  of  mankind  will 
say  —  yes,  Hancock,  you  are  perfectly  right  there  — 
1  So  much  the  better.  We  are  relieved  of  a  disagree- 
able duty.'  My  own  aim  is  to  make  the  appeal  wider 
—  to  convert  it  from  an  appeal  to  a  conventicle  into 
a  plebiscite  of  mankind  generally  —  to  show  men 
like  the  author  of  Don  Juan  that  the  matter  is  as 
important  to  them  as  to  the  author  of  The  Ch?*istian 
Year.  But  religious  philosophers  entirely  fail  to  do 
this,  because  the  strength  of  the  impulse  which  alone 
seems  to  them  religious,  makes  all  those  energies, 
passions,  arts,  and  enjoyments,  from  which  this  im- 
pulse is  absent,  abhorrent  to  them.  They  never 
dream  of  showing  —  indeed,  their  temperament  dis- 
qualifies them  from  seeing  —  how  this  world  itself 
depends  for  its  vitality  on  beliefs,  of  which  they 
foolishly  fancy  that  it  flourishes  in  iniquitous  inde- 
pendence. Accordingly,  from  this  world  of  mun- 
dane strength  and  beauty,  their  argument  runs  off 
like  water  from  a  duck's  back.  Do  you  see  what  I  'm 
driving  at  ?  Do  you  see  my  general  meaning  ?  " 
"  Yes,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  but  go  on." 
"  I  'm  thinking,"  said  Glanville,  "  how  I  can  put 


Before  Dawn  419 

it  more  clearly.  It  is  obvious,  of  course,  that  if  any 
doctrine  as  to  life  is  to  have  any  serious  and  per- 
manent effect  on  conduct,  the  doctrine  must  be  one 
whose  effect  will  be  strong  and  specific  the  more 
intensely  the  doctrine  is  dwelt  on,  and  its  meaning 
completely  grasped.  Many  people  who  hold  it  may 
not  grasp  it  completely;  but  the  general  character 
of  the  effect  which  it  tends  to  produce  on  them, 
whether  for  good  or  ill,  will  be  the  same  in  kind  as 
that  which  an  hour  of  intense  meditation  on  it  leaves 
on  a  man  when  the  hour  of  meditation  is  over." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lord  Kestormel,  "  the  Catholic 
Church  knows  this,  when  she  urges  her  sons  to  medi- 
tate on  the  Passion  of  Christ." 

"  Well,"  Glanville  continued,  "  let  us  suppose  that 
in  some  brilliant  street,  along  which  pass  the  most 
distinguished  men  of  a  nation  —  statesmen,  poets, 
inventors,  men  who  are  loved  by  women  —  there  are 
two  opposite  buildings,  set  apart  for  meditation  on 
two  opposite  doctrines  as  to  the  nature  and  signifi- 
cance of  life  —  one  being  the  doctrine  of  science, 
the  other  that  of  religion ;  and  that  a  man  on  enter- 
ing one  finds  his  whole  being  impregnated  with  a 
sense  of  some  superhuman  Power  responsive  to  all 
his  aspirations,  of  the  freedom  of  his  own  will,  and 
of  the  persistence  of  his  own  personality ;  and  that 
on  entering  the  other  he  finds  all  his  being  impreg- 
nated with  the  blank  sense  that  no  such  power  exists, 
that  even  his  will  is  not  really  his  own,  and  that 
death  ends  that  puny  storm  in  a  teacup  which  he 
inaccurately  calls  himself.  And  let  us  suppose  that 
a  man  of  commanding  intellect,  of  high  ambitions, 
or  of  ardent  passions  —  a  Pitt,  a  Byron,  or  a  Romeo 


420        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

—  who  is  suffering  from  some  discouragement,  enters 
the  scientific  building  in  order  to  brace  himself  up 
by  an  hour's  communion  with  the  final  facts  of  ex- 
istence. What  will  be  his  experience  ?  Just  as  the 
saint  in  meditation  sees  the  five  sacred  wounds,  so 
will  this  man  see  under  its  three  aspects  the  un- 
reality of  everything  that  has  filled  him  with  hope 
and  energy.  Does  he  try  to  lift  himself  to  the  mys- 
tery from  which  he  himself  has  sprung?  As  much 
of  it  as  he  can  ever  know  is  miserable  in  his  soul 
already.  Does  he  try  to  brace  himself  for  some  bril- 
liant but  arduous  action,  which  shall  give  him,  at 
least,  the  comfort  of  dignity  in  his  own  eyes  ?  He 
finds  that  his  will  is  his  slave-driver,  not  his  slave  — 
that  it  is  no  more  his  than  the  wind  which  shakes  the 
reed  is  the  reed.  Does  he  turn  for  encouragement 
to  the  thought  of  that  endless  ascending  road  up 
which,  for  a  mile  at  least,  he  may  help  his  kind  to 
travel  ?  He  sees  that  the  course  of  humanity  is  not 
up  a  road  but  across  it,  that  his  race  is  nothing  but 
a  queue  of  complaining  figures  being  hustled  through 
a  turnstile  out  of  one  nothingness  into  another.  Do 
you  think  that  our  friend,  after  an  hour's  meditation 
of  this  kind,  would  emerge  strengthened  for  his  day's 
efforts  or  not  ?  If  he  were  a  Byron,  would  he  be  in 
a  mood  to  compose  The  Isles  of  Greece  ?  If  he  were 
a  Romeo,  would  he  be  in  a  mood  to  see  heaven  in  the 
eyes  of  Juliet  ?  Or  would  he,  were  he  a  Pitt,  be  in- 
clined to  do  anything  but  anticipate  in  life  the  words 
of  Pitt  dying  — '  What  shadows  we  are,  and  what 
shadows  we  pursue ! '  And  now,"  continued  Glan- 
ville,  "  let  us  suppose  that  at  the  same  time,  along 
the  other  side  of  the  street,  has  been  slouching  a  dis- 


Before  Dawn  421 

couraged  Napoleon,  who  enters  the  other  building, 
and  finds  himself  filled  with  a  sense  of  the  three  con- 
structive mysteries  —  that  life  is  more  than  it  seems 
to  be,  that  the  will  is  its  own  master,  and  that  man, 
when  his  will  is  strong,  may  compel  a  will  yet 
stronger  to  lend  him  its  own  strength,  and  associate 
its  sublimity  with  his.  What  will  be  the  effect  of 
such  a  meditation  as  this  ?  The  statesman  over  the 
way  totters  out  like  a  paralytic.  The  slouching  ad- 
venturer emerges  the  Man  of  Destiny." 

"I  like  that,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon.  "But,"  she 
added,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  "  I  should  never 
have  thought  of  taking  Napoleon, 

1  Who  believed  in  his  Fortune  and  not  in  his  God,' 
as  an  example  of  the  effects  of  religion." 

"  No  example,"  said  Glanville,  "  for  our  present 
purpose  could  be  better.  When  we  talk  of  God  now, 
as  I  tried  to  explain  before,  we  are  not  talking  of  a 
power  with  any  one  moral  expression  —  not  a  mag- 
nified saint,  or  a  magnified  Methodist  minister.  We 
simply  mean  a  power  beyond  man,  whose  nature 
accords  with  anything  felt  to  be  good  by  the  man  who 
is,  or  believes  he  is,  in  communion  with  it.  This, 
for  us  at  present,  is  the  only  point  of  importance ; 
for  such  a  power,  whatever  may  be  its  character,  is 
equally  a  power  which  science  exhibits  to  us  as  the 
supreme  delusion;  and  whether  we  think  of  it  as 
Holiness,  or  Wisdom,  or  Beauty,  or  Pride,  or  Pas- 
sion, so  long  as  we  realize  that  a  belief  in  our  own 
possible  union  with  it  is  the  vital  force  which  pro- 
duces the  finer  flowers  of  life,  we  have  taken  the  first 
step  on  the  road  to  religion  of  any  kind.  We  have 
admitted  that  a  mystical  faith  which  ignores  the  ne- 


422        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

gations  of  science  is,  even  if  false,  nevertheless  a 
practical  necessity  for  the  life  of  the  man  of  the 
world,  no  less  than  that  of  the  saint." 

"  I  wish,  Rupert,"  said  Lord  Eestormel,  "  that  the 
clerical  defenders  of  religion  would,  for  their  own 
sake,  take  a  lesson  from  you,  and  begin  by  explain- 
ing the  effects  of  a  faith  in  a  God  of  some  kind,  with- 
out frightening  the  world  by  insisting  He  is  the  God 
of  the  Catechism.  They  ought  to  be  content  with 
insisting  upon  that  later,  and  not  begin  their  Euclid 
in  the  middle  of  the  sixth  book." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  though,"  said  Lady  Snowdon, 
"  that  a  faith  so  indeterminate  as  this  would  hardly 
give  life  what  you  call  its  third  moral  dimension. 
It  would  lift  the  lives  of  each  of  us,  but  would  lift 
them  all  indiscriminately.  It  would  leave  them  on 
the  old  dead  level.  A  Tiberius  at  Capri,  and  a 
Christian  martyr  at  the  stake,  would  equally  find  in 
it  his  own  propensities  glorified." 

"  That,"  said  Glanville,  "  is  in  a  measure  true.  I 
admitted  the  fact  just  now,  when  I  said  that*  vice, 
deliberately  pursued  as  vice  —  which  is  a  very  dif- 
ferent thing  from  mere  unlicensed  affection,  though 
Christian  moralists  lump  the  two  together  —  is  a 
kind  of  inverted  mysticism.  It  is  a  struggle  towards 
a  mystical  nadir,  instead  of  a  mystical  zenith.  Here, 
however,  we  can  bring  in  practical  facts  to  help  us. 
Vice  of  the  kind  in  question  —  the  development  of 
mysticism  downwards  —  is  condemned  by  precisely 
the  same  experimental  test  that  renders  the  truth  of 
the  upward  mysticism  probable.  The  upward  mys- 
ticism, in  proportion  as  it  is  influential,  makes  life 
continually   develop    fresh    flowers    of   civilization. 


Before  Dawn  423 

The  downward  exhausts  the  tree,  and  if  unchecked, 
would  destroy  it.  So,  you  see,  Lady  Snowdon,  that 
if  we  begin  with  taking  human  life  as  merely  the 
organized  beehive  which  our  friend  Mr.  Brock  offers 
us,  and  then  envelop  this  in  a  mysticism  so  inde- 
terminate that  the  mystical  power  towards  which  we 
thus  lift  it  may  be  the  God  of  Napoleon  or  Tiberius 
quite  as  well  as  the  God  of  Mr.  Keble,  our  mystical 
firmament,  as  soon  as  it  touches  fact,  automatically 
divides  itself  into  two  opposite  hemispheres,  which 
at  once  in  a  general,  if  not  in  a  precise  way,  gives 
conduct  space  for  its  third  moral  dimension.  I  ad- 
mit," Glanville  continued,  "  that  the  question  is  still 
left  doubtful  as  to  which  point  in  the  upper  firma- 
ment is  the  highest  —  or,  in  other  words,  which  of 
its  shining  stars  if  the  whole  be  not  a  dream,  is 
nearer  to  the  truth  of  things.  If  we  judge  of  them 
by  their  effects  on  life,  opinions  will  vary  widely. 
The  star  of  the  beauty  of  holiness  has  a  glory  that 
appeals  to  some.  The  star  of  the  holiness  of  beauty 
has  a  glory  that  appeals  to  others.  Others  will  fix 
their  eyes  on  the  star  of  romance  and  passion.  But 
all  these  stars  will,  at  all  events,  have  one  common 
quality.  Each  will  fill  the  man  who  aspires  to  reach 
it  with  a  sense  that  he  is  lifting  himself  by  an  active 
effort  of  his  own,  and  winning  his  way  towards  some 
triumphant  life;  whilst  those  whose  eyes  are  fas- 
cinated by  the  stars  below  will  feel  themselves  sur- 
prised spectators  of  a  plunge  that  ends  in  death." 

Mrs.  Vernon's  spirits  suddenly  seemed  to  rise, 
"  And  so,  Mr.  Glanville,"  she  said,  "  if  all  this  is 
true,  you  really  think  that  we  get  the  whole  thing 
back  again  —  good  and  evil,  and  God,  and  a  future 


424        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

life,  and  that  all  we  have  to  do  is  to  settle  with  our 
own  consciences  which  conception  of  God  is  really 
the  best  and  highest.  If  that's  the  case,  I  suppose 
the  whole  difficulty  is  over." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Glanville,  "  all  we  have 
done  yet  is  to  see  what  the  nature  of  the  supreme 
difficulty  is.  But  do  n't  let  that  discourage  you. 
Rather  remember  this  —  that  if  any  intellectual  diffi- 
culty is  ever  to  be  really  solved,  the  first  step  is  to 
see  it  in  all  its  magnitude.  We  have  got  no  further 
than  this  first  step  yet.     Do  you  see  what  I  mean  ?  " 

"  I  'm  not  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  that  I  do. 
You  bewilder  me." 

"  Well,"  said  Glanville,  "  let  me,  in  a  very  few 
words,  put  the  whole  thing  over  again.  We  all  of 
us  set  out  on  these  discussions  of  ours  with  two 
distinct  conceptions  in  the  background,  or  the  fore- 
ground, of  our  minds.  One  was  the  conception  of 
civilized  human  life,  with  its  knowledge,  its  arts,  its 
affections,  and  its  various  ideals,  as  something  super- 
ior to  the  life  of  our  naked  progenitors,  whose  homes 
were  in  the  trees  or  rocks.  The  other  was  the  con- 
ception of  science,  as  the  one  means  of  discovering 
the  truth  of  everything  to  which  its  methods  of  dis- 
covery can  be  applied.  Well,  we  began  with  science ; 
and  what  we  gradually  saw  was  this  —  that  its  meth- 
ods of  discovery,  which  have  by  this  time  embraced 
all  things  —  have  drawn  not  only  the  Universe,  but 
ourselves,  as  vanishing  parts  of  it,  into  what  Sabatier 
calls  6  one  causal  and  necessary  network.'  We  saw 
also  that  science,  as  the  result  of  this,  forces  us  to 
recognize  the  hopes  and  the  beliefs  of  religion  as 
merely  delusions  of  a  mind  whose  knowledge  was  in- 


Before  Dawn  425 

complete.  Then,  turning  from  science  to  our  con- 
ceptions of  human  life,  we  have  seen  that  in  propor- 
tion as  these  delusions  are  taken  from  us,  the  value 
of  life  itself  disappears  in  a  corresponding  way ;  or, 
in  other  words,  that  the  beliefs  which  are  our  su- 
preme delusions  scientifically  operate  in  practical 
life  as  the  supreme  germinating  truths  —  that  whilst 
science  is  stultified  if  we  accept  them,  civilization  is 
stultified  if  we  do  n't.  We  thus  get  to  a  deadlock, 
which  seems  utterly  hopeless.  Must  we,  as  Sabatier 
asks,  renounce  our  right  to  think  —  in  other  words, 
our  belief  in  science  —  so  as  to  retain  energy  for 
living,  or  consent  to  lose  this  energy,  so  as  to  retain 
the  right  to  think  ?  The  world  at  present  alternates 
between  the  two  choices,  like  a  feverish  man  who 
lies  first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the  other  in  bed, 
and  in  each  attitude  suffers  an  equal  restlessness." 

"  No  description  of  our  condition,"  said  Lord 
Restormel,  "  could  be  more  true  than  that.  We 
want  to  know  how  you  propose  to  get  us  out  of  it." 

"  The  first  step,"  said  Glanville,  "  towards  get- 
ting out  of  it  is,  as  I  say,  to  understand  its  nature 
thoroughly.  We  have  certain  beliefs,  which  we  de- 
sire to  retain,  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  compact  Uni- 
verse of  scientific  fact  on  the  other,  from  which  those 
beliefs  are  altogether  excluded.  The  problem  is  how 
to  reconcile  the  two.  Our  next  step  must  be  to  see 
the  urgent  necessity  for  a  reconciliation.  Our  next 
must  be  to  see  that  all  the  reconciliations  at  present 
offered  to  us  are  hopeless.  Now,  as  to  the  necessity 
for  a  reconciliation,  there  is  one  way,  and  one  way 
only,  in  which  this  can  be  brought  home  to  us.  It 
is  the  way  —  the  via  dolorosa  —  by  which,  in  all 


426        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

these  discussions  of  ours,  I  have  been  doing  my  best 
to  lead  you.  It  is  to  realize,  detail  by  detail,  the  full 
practical  effects  which  science  has  on  life,  in  so  far  as 
we  surrender  ourselves  to  its  guidance  —  to  realize 
that  it  strips  us  of  everything  which  gives  worth  to 
us  in  our  own  eyes  —  that  it  will  not  let  us  go  till  it 
has  extracted  the  last  farthing  —  that  it  not  only 
desolates  the  religious  man,  but  the  worldly  man 
also ;  and  finally  that  it  takes  the  vital  force  out  of 
civilization  at  large,  just  as  much  as  it  does  out  of 
the  mind  or  soul  of  the  individual.  By  realizing 
this,  we  secure  an  immense  advantage  at  once.  In- 
stead of  the  solitary  soul,  crying  out  in  the  wilder- 
ness against  the  negations  of  the  scientific  Universe, 
we  elicit  a  corporate  protest  from  the  mass  of  civil- 
ized Humanity.  We  have  vita  contra  mundum. 
The  whole  practical  world  is  on  our  side,  demand- 
ing a  place  in  the  Universe  for  those  three  beliefs, 
which  the  Universe  shuts  out  by  a  seemingly  im- 
penetrable wall." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  but  a  million  men, 
if  they  have  n't  got  the  right  weapons,  are  in  a  case 
like  this  no  stronger  than  one." 

"  I  do  n't,"  said  Lord  Kestormel,  "  altogether 
agree  with  you.  They  may  stimulate  each  other  to 
make  them.  Furor  arma  ministrat.  But  tell  us, 
Bupert  —  this  is  what  we  want  to  know  —  how 
would  you  attack  the  impenetrable  wall  yourself  % " 

"  That,"  said  Glanville,  "  is  what  I  am  now  com- 
ing to.  In  order  to  attack  it  successfully,  we  must 
begin  by  abandoning  altogether  the  methods  which 
are  popular  with  the  champions  of  religion  to-day. 
We  must  n't  pepper  the  ponderous  stones  with  pistol- 


Before  Dawn  427 

bullets,  and  pretend  that  the  splash  of  lead  which 
each  bullet  makes  is  a  perforation,  or  fancy,  like  the 
Bishop  of  Glastonbury  and  most  of  our  pulpit  apolo- 
gists, that  every  hole  left  by  a  scaffolding  pole  is  a 
gap  through  which  we  may  manage  to  crawl  into 
the  heart  of  the  fortress.  We  must  abandon  the 
method  of  direct  attack  altogether.  And  now,  Mrs. 
Vernon,  as  an  example  of  the  futility  of  all  these 
clerical  tactics,  I  will  do  what  I  told  you  the  other 
night  I  would  do.  I  will  show  you  how  Sabatier  — 
the  most  accomplished  apologist  of  to-day  —  thinks 
he  has  broken  through  what  he  calls  the  '  causal  net- 
work of  science.'  In  an  answer  to  the  critics  of  his 
book,  The  Philosophy  of  Religion,  who  declared  that 
he  had  surrendered  himself  to  the  doctrines  of  neces- 
sary evolution,  he  naively  explains  that  he  gets  out 
of  the  difficulty  by  regarding  evolution  as  a  mere 
succession  of  phenomena  produced  and  fitted  to- 
gether by  a  series  of  creative  acts,  as  if  they  were  so 
many  marbles  which  a  boy  puts  in  a  row,  instead  of 
being  so  many  buds  which  sprout  from  a  growing 
stem ;  whilst  as  to  the  freedom  of  man,  which  is,  he 
admits,  unthinkable,  he  frankly  confesses  that  he 
starts  with  positing  this  as  a  mystery.  He  actually 
persuades  himself  that  he  has  reconciled  religion 
with  science,  when  he  merely  misconceives  or  ignores 
everything  that  science  teaches.  What  a  confession 
of  helplessness  for  an  admirable  and  able  man !  And 
now  I  'm  afraid  I  must  turn  upon  present  company. 
Yes,  Alistair,  I  must  once  more  have  a  go  at  you. 
You  would  break  through  the  wall  by  showing  that  it 
has  no  existence  —  by  doing  what  you  call  getting  rid 
of  the  material  Universe.     My  dear  good  fellow, 


428        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

believe  me,  the  attempt  is  hopeless.  By  turning 
the  Universe  into  a  system  of  related  ideas  instead  of 
a  system  of  related  bodies  and  forces,  you  do  nothing 
to  liberate  your  soul  from  the  bondage  of  universal 
necessity.  The  angles  at  the  base  of  an  abstract 
isosceles  triangle  are  no  more  free  to  be  anything 
but  equal  to  one  another  than  the  angles  at  the  base 
of  a  triangle  whose  sides  are  deal  or  iron." 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  abstract  truths, 
like  those  of  mathematics,  are  the  very  types  of 
truths  which  are  necessary.  Idealism,  my  dear  Mr. 
Seaton,  won't  give  you  a  free  will,  any  more  than  it 
will  give  you  a  free  multiplication  table." 

"  Yes,  Hancock,"  said  Glanville,  "  but  do  n't  you 
be  too  cock-a-hoop.  I  am  going  presently  to  walk 
into  you  too." 

"  Before  you  walk  into  him,"  said  Lady  Snow- 
don,  "  may  I  venture  on  a  suggestion  of  my  own  ?  It 
was  a  goose,  you  know,  that  saved  the  Capitol.  Let 
us  suppose  that,  instead  of  trying  to  find  gaps  in  the 
scientific  wall,  religion  stoops  to  conquer,  and  sup- 
pressing its  protests,  is  admitted  into  the  fortress  as 
a  friend.  Is  there  no  chance  that  it  may  be  able  to 
do  from  within  what  it  can  't  do  from  without  ? 
Can  't  it  say  to  science,  when  once  it  is  inside,  '  Here 
I  am,  you  must  do  the  best  you  can  with  me'?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  I  quite  agree  with  my 
aunt.  Let  religion  get  inside  with  its  light  in  a  dark 
lantern,  and  let  it  turn  the  light  on  then.  If  it  does 
this,  it  will  show  one  thing  at  once  —  that  there  does 
exist  what  you  call  the  third  moral  dimension  —  an 
up  and  a  down  —  a  moral  bad  and  good,  which  are 
bad  and  good  —  this  is  what  I  really  mean  —  not 


Before  Dawn  429 

because  of  the  consequences  they  lead  to,  but  because 
they  are  consequences  themselves.  It  will  show,  for 
instance,  that  mind,  soul,  thought,  the  perception  of 
beauty,  are  more  than  the  grossness  of  the  body, 
with  which,  for  the  time,  they  are  associated  —  the 
body  which,  as  soon  as  we  cut  it  open,  disgusts  us; 
and  in  doing  this  it  must,  so  it  seems  to  me,  show  that 
there  is  some  God  at  the  back  of  things  who  is  above 
matter,  although  He  made  it." 

"  You  are,"  said  Glanville,  "  at  all  events,  a  very 
representative  thinker.  The  vileness  of  the  flesh, 
the  lowness  of  all  material  processes,  in  especial 
those  to  which  the  life  of  every  human  being  is  due, 
are  common  to  nearly  all  religions.  Thought  is  a 
sublimity  —  the  thinking  brain  is  a  mess.  Melan- 
choly is  an  exquisite  mystery;  black  bile  is  dirt; 
and  I  quite  agree  with  you  that  if  our  moral  and 
mental  life  is  merely  a  result  of  the  action  of  these 
organs,  the  value  we  attach  to  that  life  is  not  only 
lowered,  it  is  destroyed.  But  brains  and  black  bile 
do  n't  stand  alone.  They  are  parts  of  the  material 
Universe  which  you  assume  your  God  to  have  made. 
They  are,  moreover,  the  most  elaborate  parts  of  it. 
There  are  more  cells  in  each  average  brain  and  liver 
than  there  are  men  on  the  globe.  Are  the  phenom- 
ena of  the  brain  and  the  liver,  of  reproduction  and 
heredity,  regrettable  errors  on  the  part  of  the  su- 
perior wisdom  ?  Or  have  they  sprung  up  of  them- 
selves, as  a  kind  of  perverse  putrescence,  which  the 
Deity  has,  nevertheless,  selected  as  the  vehicles  of 
the  human  soul  ?  In  that  case  they  are  like  a  heap 
of  carrion,  and  the  Deity  like  a  poodle  that  has 
rolled  in  it.     You  can  't  think  that.     If  the  Universe 


430 


Before  Dawn 


is  the  work  of  God,  one  part  of  it  is  no  less  divine 
than  the  other.  So  far  as  God  is  concerned,  it  is  all 
on  one  moral  level ;  and  if  human  life  is  too  good  to 
be  the  product  of  the  Universe,  the  Universe  must 
be  too  bad  to  be  the  product  of  a  good  God.  So  I 
fear  that  by  smuggling  your  lantern  into  the  camp  of 
the  enemy  you  merely  re-exhibit,  instead  of  solving, 
the  problem." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Lord  Kestormel,  "  a  conver- 
sation I  had  in  India  with  a  Brahmin  who  had 
studied  science  in  Europe,  and  he  wound  up  with 
saying  this.  '  Science/  he  said,  '  is  a  Pantheism,  or 
it  is  nothing.  This  is  the  last  word  of  your  Brocks, 
Spencers,  and  Haeckels.  The  last  word  of  religion 
is  holiness  —  an  idea  which  we  understand  quite  as 
well  as  Christians.  The  sense  of  holiness,  if  science 
is  our  only  guide,  is  a  piece  of  magnesium  wire 
ignited  in  a  dark  cavern:  but  it  only  lights  up  for 
a  moment  this  cavern,  which  is  the  Universe,  to  show 
us  that  its  walls  are  ice,  its  floor  an  obscene  slime, 
and  that  its  darker  recesses  are  gleaming  with  the 
teeth  of  monsters.'  " 

"  There,"  said  Glanville,  "  we  have  the  old  con- 
clusion over  again.  Knowledge  must  die  in  order 
that  life  may  flourish ;  or  life  must  wither  in  order 
that  knowledge  may  live.  Well,  now  at  last  let  me 
give  you  my  own  solution  —  or  rather  a  humble  indi- 
cation of  the  quarter  in  which  I  think  that  a  solution 
may  be  found." 

"  Now,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "  let  us  all  sit  still  and 
listen." 


CHAPTEE    VI 

4  4  |  ET  me,  then,"  said  Glanville,  "  start  with  re- 
A-'  peating  one  thing.  If  we  want  to  get  re- 
ligion inside  the  citadel  of  science,  we  must  abandon 
all  attempts  at  any  direct  attack.  We  must  find  the 
solution  of  our  difficulty  in  quite  another  direction. 
And  now  I  ?m  going  to  make  use  of  two  long  words, 
one  of  which  is  rather  pedantic,  although  it  is  fairly 
familiar,  whilst  the  other  is  so  wholly  pedantic  that 
I  almost  feel  it  to  be  indecent.  The  solution  of  our 
difficulty  may,  I  venture  to  think,  be  found  in  an 
addition  to  our  accepted  psychology,  or  rather,  per- 
haps, to  our  epistemology.  Epistemology,  Mrs.  Ver- 
non, is  merely  the  professor's  word  for  the  science  of 
the  ways  in  which  we  know  things.  Well,  the  ways 
in  which  we  know  the  things  both  of  ordinary  life 
and  science,  are  the  familiar  ways  of  the  experience 
given  us  through  the  senses,  ordinary  reasoning  on 
the  facts  with  which  this  experience  provides  us,  and 
a  further  reflection  on  what  the  nature  of  these  facts 
is.  In  these  ways  we  know  that  lemons  fall  to  the 
ground ;  that  they  fall  to  the  ground  in  accordance 
with  the  law  of  gravitation,  and  that  we  know  of  the 
substance  of  lemons  only  what  our  senses  tell  us.  We 
know  also  that  two  lemons  added  to  two  lemons  make 
four  lemons ;   and  that  not  more  than  one  lemon  can 

43i 


432        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

occupy  the  same  space.  Now,  since  we  have  seen 
that  the  assumptions  involved  in  theistic  religion  are 
possible  only  if  we  contradict  the  demonstrations  of 
science,  we  may  compare  them  to  the  assertion  that 
two  lemons  added  to  two  lemons,  besides  making 
four,  may  sometimes  make  five  also;  and  that  two 
material  bodies,  not  only  cannot,  but  can,  occupy  at 
the  same  time  identically  the  same  space." 

"  But  surely,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  no  one  wants  to 
make  that  out." 

"  No,"  said  Glanville,  laughing,  "  not  these  par- 
ticular things;  but  they  do  want  to  make  out  that 
human  conduct  is  free,  that  the  Universe  is  benevo- 
lently ordered  for  the  good  of  the  human  unit,  and 
that  the  human  unit  persists  wdien  the  human  body 
dissolves ;  though,  if  we  turn  to  the  ordinary  means 
of  knowledge,  we  know  that  human  conduct  is  in- 
exorably determined  by  its  antecedents;  that  the 
Universe  takes  no  heed  of  the  unit,  as  such,  at  all ; 
and  that  the  unit,  being  the  unity  of  its  body,  goes 
to  pieces  along  with  it.  Now  people,  who  in  spite  of 
science,  persist  in  making  these  assertions,  are  driven 
to  defend  them  in  one  or  other  of  four  ways.  They 
either  defend  them,  like  our  friend  Mr.  Hancock,  by 
calling  them  working  hypotheses;  or  they  say,  as 
Lady  Snowdon  said,  that  the  logic  of  science  takes 
away  so  much  from  us,  if  we  push  it  to  its  last  con- 
clusions, that  common  sense,  after  a  certain  period, 
refuses  to  accept  it  as  valid ;  or  else  they  defend 
them  by  calling  them  an  act  of  faith ;  or  else  they 
say,  as  Sabatier  says  about  free  will,  that  they  l  posit 
them  as  a  mystery.'  All  four  ways  of  arguing  are 
really  one  and  the  same.     Yes,  Lady  Snowdon,  your 


Before  Dawn  433 

sound  and  shrewd  common  sense  is  really  a  bit  of 
pure  mysticism,  in  a  homely,  secular  dress.  Of  the 
four  ways  of  putting  the  case,  Sabatier's  is  the  most 
instructive,  though  Mr.  Hancock's  is  a  good  second. 
When  Sabatier  says  that  he  posits  free  will  as  a  mys- 
tery, he  means  that  he  believes  a  certain  thing  to 
exist,  though  all  ordinary  means  of  knowledge  show 
it  to  be  quite  impossible;  and  the  sort  of  solution 
which  I  am  going  to  suggest  to  you  myself  is  the  same 
as  Sabatier's,  excepting  in  one  particular." 

"  But  just  now,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  you  held 
Sabatier's  way  up  to  us  as  an  example  of  everything 
that  was  feeble,  absurd,  and  hopeless." 

"  As  it  stands,"  said  Glanville,  "  so  it  is.  It  is  an 
isolated  protest,  with  nothing  to  explain  or  justify 
it.  To  what  intellectual  principle  does  the  mystic 
make  appeal  ? " 

"  To  the  principle,"  said  Lord  Kestormel,  "  that 
the  intellect  can  't  tell  us  everything,  and  that,  in 
many  cases,  what  it  shows  to  us  to  be  inevitable  is 
false." 

"  Yes,"  said  Glanville,  "  but  this  principle  is  alto- 
gether vague.  In  the  science  of  mind,  as  this  sci- 
ence exists  at  present,  it  has  no  recognized,  it  has  no 
definite  place.  The  senses  we  know;  logic  we 
know ;  but  what  is  this  which  claims  to  defy  both  ? 
Every  sentimentalist  makes  his  own  appeal  to  it 
when,  and  how,  and  to  what  extent,  he  pleases ;  and 
the  consequence  is,  he  convinces  nobody  but  himself, 
or  those  who  are  convinced  already.  In  order  that 
the  assertions  of  mysticism  may  carry  any  weight 
with  the  world,  comparable  to  that  of  the  sci- 
ence with  which  it  is  their  function  to  conflict,  the 


434        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

world  must  be  shown  that  these  assertions  are  based 
on  some  specific  faculty,  the  scope  of  which,  as  an 
organ  of  knowledge,  can  be  denned,  and  the  validity 
of  Avhich  can  be  tested.  If  religion  confines  itself  to 
saying,  *  We  feel  that  we  are  greater  than  we  know,' 
the  retort  of  science  is  overwhelming  — '  We  know 
that  Ave  are  less  than  we  feel.'  " 

"I  confess,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  "that  I  don't 
see  your  way  out.  If  this  mysticism  of  yours  defies 
the  logic  of  science,  it  refuses  to  submit  to  the  only 
test  you  can  put  it  to,  except  that  of  its  own  self- 
confidence,  which  is  naturally  no  test  at  all." 

"  I  think  not,"  said  Glanville.  "  I  think  we  can 
find  certain  witnesses  of  a  really  respectable  kind  to 
the  validity  of  the  mystical  faculty,  in  one  of  the  out- 
lying conclusions  forced  on  us  by  science  itself,  and 
also  in  the  assumption  with  which  all  science  starts. 
Its  first  assumption  is  that  the  material  Universe 
does  not  consist  merely  of  the  individual  human 
mind,  growing  gradually  conscious  of  its  own  nature 
and  workings,  in  what  is  tantamount  to  a  coherent 
dream.  All  thinkers  have  admitted,  from  Aristotle 
down  to  Huxley,  that  this  conception  of  existence 
can  never  be  formally  disproved.  Huxley  said  that 
our  rejection  of  it  was  an  act  of  faith.  Hume  said 
that  it  resulted  from  the  sensitive,  rather  than  the 
cognitive  part  of  us ;  and  most  people  would  say  that 
it  results  from  our  common  sense.  At  any  rate,  it 
does  n't  result  from  any  of  those  means  of  knowledge 
on  which  science,  when  once  it  has  begun  business, 
relies.  And  now  from  the  starting-point  of  science, 
let  us  turn  to  its  two  ends ;  for  it  works  forwards  to 
one  end,  which  for  practical  purposes  is  ourselves; 


Before  Dawn  435 

and  it  works  backwards  to  another  end,  which  is  the 
beginning  out  of  which  we  have  risen.  Well,  let  us 
take  the  beginning  or  the  tail-end  of  things,  and  care- 
fully consider  that.  Here,  Alistair,  we  shall  be  re- 
turning to  another  of  your  arguments,  which  I 
seemed,  when  you  urged  it,  to  sweep  aside  as  useless. 
In  the  form  in  which  you  put  it,  I  should  sweep  it 
aside  still ;  but  I  think  we  can  give  it  a  form  which 
will  make  it  practically  serviceable.  I  'm  referring 
to  your  argument  that  if  we  —  ourselves  as  we  are 
—  are  really,  as  science  shows  us  to  be,  results  of  the 
same  process  which  has  produced  the  stones  and  the 
trees,  and  the  existing  Universe  generally,  every- 
thing which  exists  in  ourselves  —  our  highest  quali- 
ties and  our  lowest,  our  conflicting  impulses  towards 
what  seems  high  and  low,  and  the  reason  which  ren- 
ders the  process  to  which  we  owe  our  being  intel- 
ligible to  us  —  must  necessarily  all  have  existed  by 
implication,  in  the  Cosmic  Substance  from  which  we 
spring.  So  far  as  science  has  been  able  to  inform  us 
hitherto,  this  substance  was  once  —  I  would  n't  say 
originally,  for  no  state  of  the  substance  can  be  prop- 
erly called  original  —  was  once  a  gas,  or  jelly-like 
homogeneous  ether,  with  atoms  and  electrons,  dan- 
cing in  it.  But  whatever  its  condition  may  have 
been,  there  never  was  a  moment  of  its  existence  when 
the  arrangement  of  its  parts  failed  to  be  so  specific, 
that  everything  which  we  here  to-night  are  thinking, 
doing,  and  saying,  was  not  definitely  and  inevitably 
implied  in  the  arrangement  of  its  parts  then.  Well," 
Glanville  continued,  "  Mr.  Seaton's  argument  was 
that  because  we  ourselves  have  what  we  call  reason, 
and  ideas  of  God,  and  because  these,  as  we  admit, 


436        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

were  implicit  in  the  cosmic  gas,  the  gas  must  have 
really  itself  been  something  that  we  should  call  good 
and  reasonable.  This  seems  to  me  a  singularly  false 
conclusion.  The  same  reasoning  that  leads  to  it 
would  equally  oblige  us  to  admit  .that  the  gas  must 
have  also  been  everything  that  we  call  vile  and 
stupid.  If  the  sage  was  in  it,  so  was  the  fool.  If 
Christ  was  in  it,  and  the  Christian  saints  and 
martyrs,  so  was  Herod,  so  were  Diocletian  and  the 
Borgias.  The  sole  possible  inference  which  science 
allows  us  to  draw  —  and  it  not  only  allows  us  to  do 
this,  but  compels  us  —  is  that  this  cause  or  substance 
out  of  which  we  have  all  risen  is  neither  wise  nor 
foolish,  neither  kind  nor  cruel,  neither  pure  nor  im- 
pure, neither  good  nor  evil,  but  all  and  each  of  these 
supremely,  and  at  the  same  time.  It  is  partly  for 
this  reason  that  Mr.  Brock  calls  it  the  Unknowable. 
He  would  have  come  far  nearer  the  truth  if  he  had 
called  it  the  Unthinkable ;  for  we  do  know  this  about 
it  —  that  these  known  and  conflicting  qualities  have 
emerged  from  it ;  and  we  know  that  our  own  intel- 
lects are  constituted  in  such  a  way  that  we  cannot 
conceive  them  as  co-existing  in  one  and  the  same 
Being.  Now  the  conclusion  which  I  draw  from  this 
absolutely  indubitable  fact  is  that  science  itself  not 
only  starts  with  an  assumption  which  neither  the 
experience  of  the  senses  nor  the  logical  intellect  can 
justify  —  namely  the  existence  of  the  external  world 
—  but  leads  us  to  a  conclusion  which  this  same  logical 
intellect  is  at  once  compelled  to  accept,  and  is  yet 
unable  to  tolerate.  Science  compels  us  to  accept 
what  are  for  the  intellect  contradictions.  Well,  if 
this  holds  good  with  regard  to  things  as  they  were, 


Before  Dawn  437 

why  may  it  not  hold  good  equally  with  regard  to 
things  as  they  are  %  If  we  find  any  good  reason  for 
assenting  to  the  doctrines  of  religion,  though  these 
are  absolutely  contradicted  by  the  detailed  demon- 
strations of  science,  we  do  no  more  violence  to  our 
intellect  by  simultaneously  accepting  both,  than  we 
do  by  accepting  the  demonstrations  of  science  itself, 
which  have  their  root  in  contradiction,  equally,  or 
even  more,  unmanageable.  Do  you  catch  my  mean- 
ing?" 

"  Perfectly,"  said  Lady  Snowdon,  "  perfectly." 

"  I  have  been  able,"  said  Glanville,  "  to  give  you 
only  a  general  sketch  of  it.  In  my  own  mind,  in- 
deed, it  exists  in  a  general  form  only.  More  time, 
and  other  minds  would  be  required  for  its  full  de- 
velopment ;  and  —  above  all  —  if  it  is  to  be  effica- 
cious in  liberating  human  belief,  it  must  be  dragged 
to  the  forefront  of  our  acknowledged  intellectual 
principles,  and  not  allowed  to  skulk  like  a  furtive 
ghost  in  the  background." 

"  You  Ve  given  us,"  said  Mr.  Hancock  knowingly, 
"  in  this  principle  of  yours,  a  very  good  analysis  of 
the  logical  meaning  of  mysticism;  but  the  question 
is  how  far  you  would  allow  this  principle  of  yours 
to  go.  All  knowledge  would  fall  to  pieces  if  we 
allowed  ourselves  to  hold  contradictory  beliefs  about 
everything." 

"  Our  rule,"  said  Glanville,  "  would,  I  think,  be 
very  simple.  We  should  only  invoke  this  principle 
when  the  concrete  facts  of  experience  are  explain- 
able in  no  other  way.  Science  unconsciously  as- 
serts it  only  under  the  same  compulsion.  With  re- 
gard to  religious  beliefs,  the  only  question  would  be 


438        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

this :  Do  our  experiences  of  the  higher  kinds  of  civi- 
lization, and  the  value  which  mankind  puts  upon 
these,  constitute  facts  of  a  sufficiently  solid  character 
to  compel  our  assent  to  the  truth  of  whatever  beliefs 
may  be  implied  in  them  —  the  belief  in  our  freedom, 
the  belief  in  the  persistence  of  our  lives,  the  belief 
in  the  existence  of  some  Deity  through  whom  our 
lives  will  be  perfected  ?  Well,  Lady  Snowdon  says 
that  they  do,  for  one.  She  's  not  superstitious ;  but, 
in  giving  us  this  answer,  she  gives  us,  as  I  said,  a 
mysticism  in  the  guise  of  common  sense.  Our  friend 
Sir  Eoderick,  little  as  he  knew  it  —  good  man  — 
gave  us  the  same  mysticism  on  behalf  of  the  Turf 
Club.  And  now,  Hancock,  I  come  to  you.  You,  in 
the  interests  of  common  sense  also,  give  us  the  same 
mysticism  in  the  guise  of  a  working  hypothesis.  No 
one  maintains  more  strongly  than  you  do,  that  one 
of  our  religious  beliefs  —  namely,  the  belief  in 
freedom  —  which  according  to  science  is  quite  as 
nonsensical  as  the  others,  and  may,  therefore,  be 
taken  to  represent  the  others  —  is  absolutely  essen- 
tial to  the  business  of  civilized  life.  Well,  if  this 
belief  is  only  a  working  hypothesis,  which  we  assume 
to  be  true,  but  at  the  same  time  know  to  be  false,  all 
that  we  value  in  civilization  rests  on  a  mere  game  of 
play,  or  a  kind  of  mental  hypocrisy.  If  this  is  the 
case,  and  if  Sir  Eoderick  only  knew  it,  Marcus  might 
turn  round  on  Sir  Roderick,  when  Sir  Roderick  con- 
demned him  for  cheating,  and  shut  that  virtuous 
censor  completely  up  by  saying,  l  Your  condemna- 
tion of  my  cheating  is  more  fraudulent  than  the 
cheating  itself.  My  cheating  is  nothing  more  than 
an  unfortunate  trick  of  my  organism,  and  merely  ac- 


Before  Dawn  439 

counts  for  the  fact  that  I  can't  play  well  at  cards,  just 
as  you  yourself  can  't  play  well  at  rackets.  You  may 
be  quite  right  in  refusing  to  play  cards  with  me ;  but 
if  you  avoid  me  in  any  other  relation,  you  're  a 
damned  humbug,  assuming  what  you  know  to  be  a 
lie.'  Come  now,  Hancock,  I  put  it  to  you  as  a  sen- 
sible, wide-awake  man,  can  you  believe  that  all  our 
civilization  —  moral,  intellectual,  material,  artistic, 
social  —  rests  on  what  is  merely  a  child's  game  of 
pretending  ? " 

"  There,"  exclaimed  Lady  Snowdon,  "  I  quite 
agree  with  Mr.  Glanville.  I  really  think  I  must 
admit  myself  a  mystic  at  once,  if  only  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  using  that  argument  on  my  own  account." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  who  had  the  highest 
opinion  of  Lady  Snowdon,  and  was  looking  forward 
to  staying  with  her  in  her  celebrated  castle  in  Wales, 
"  I  'm  quite  willing  to  be  converted.  I  only  take  up 
with  an  hypothesis  as  a  poor  substitute  for  a  cer- 
tainty." 

"  But  all  the  same,"  said  Glanville,  "  we  've  got 
to  recollect  this  —  and  here,  Hancock,  I  'm  going  to 
quote  you  again  —  the  Universe,  as  science  gives  it 
to  us,  with  all  its  uniformities  and  negations,  is  a 
big  thing.  We  can 't  get  rid  of  it.  We  can  think 
our  religion  away,  and  yet  go  on  living  somehow: 
but  so  long  as  we  live  anyhow,  we  can  't  think  away 
science.  To  maintain  our  religion,  therefore,  in  the 
teeth  of  what  science  tells  us,  will  be  a  tough  job; 
and  in  order  to  gain  strength  for  it,  we  must  first  — 
let  me  once  more  urge  on  you  —  realize  its  full  neces- 
sity. We  must  realize  all  that  science  will  take  away 
from  us,  so  far  as  we  regard  it  as  the  sole  expression 


44°        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

of  truth ;  and  we  must  realize  all  that  religion,  and 
religion  alone,  can  give  us.  And  this  brings  me  back 
again  to  what  I  was  saying  just  now,  about  the  differ- 
ent effects  on  the  individual  of  intense  meditation  on 
the  two  views  of  life  —  the  scientific  view  and  the 
religious.  If  you  want  to  realize  the  strength  of  the 
practical  reasons  wdiich  call  on  us  to  supplement  the 
first  of  these  two  by  the  second,  even  at  the  cost  of 
submitting  ourselves  to  the  mystical  doctrine  of  con- 
tradictions, we  must  realize  completely,  as  I  have 
tried  to  make  you  realize  here,  what  the  final  effect 
of  the  first  of  these  views  must  be.  Perhaps  you  will 
think  that  my  picture  of  the  debilitated  Pitt  or 
Byron,  or  the  disillusioned  Romeo,  as  he  issues  from 
the  temple  of  scientific  meditation,  was  overdrawn. 
On  the  contrary,  I  did  not  draw  it  in  lines  that  were 
marked  enough.  The  man  who  believes  in  the  three 
negations  of  science,  unmitigated  by  any  contrary 
belief  drawn  from  another  source,  is,  in  proportion 
as  he  knows  what  these  negations  mean,  not  only  de- 
bilitated and  disillusioned;  he  is  mentally  and 
morally  eviscerated.  You  may  not,  by  looking  at 
him,  be  able  to  tell  that  he  is  ill,  but  he  is  all  the 
while  dying  slowly  of  a  kind  of  internal  hemorrhage. 
A  friend  of  mine,  who  lived  under  these  scientific 
influences  —  a  prosperous,  active  man,  seemingly 
overflowing  with  good  spirits  —  once  made,  for  my 
edification,  some  notes  of  his  own  condition.  I  could 
see  from  these  that,  in  his  own  eyes,  he  was  hardly 
a  man  at  all.  He  had  become,  so  far  as  his  interests 
and  judgments  went,  the  mere  husk  of  a  man.  In 
performing  his  duties,  which  he  continued  to  do  less 
as  duties  than  as  distractions,  he  felt,  so  he  said,  like 


Before  Dawn  441 

an  actor  before  painted  canvas,  or  like  a  dotard  play- 
ing with  the  furniture  of  a  doll's  house.  The  more 
clearly  we  all  of  us  see  how  our  hopes,  interests,  am- 
bitions—  the  whole  structure  of  our  civilization  — 
turn  to  ashes  like  this  under  the  touch  of  science,  the 
more  shall  we  realize  the  necessity  of  religious  be- 
lief, when  we  see  how  this  belief  brings  the  ashes  to 
life ;  how  a  man's  belief  in  his  immortality  makes 
existence  great  again;  how  his  belief  in  his  will 
makes  him  strong  again ;  and  how  his  belief  in  the 
God  of  either  wisdom,  beauty,  or  holiness  —  choose 
which  you  will  —  gives  him,  as  Mr.  Seaton  said,  an 
open  top  to  his  chimney,  which  enables  a  draught  to 
form  itself,  and  the  dying  fire  to  burn.  I  don't 
know,"  said  Glanville,  "  that  I  've  anything  more  to 
add,  unless  it  be  to  say  that :  If  I  were  to  make  my 
own  choice,  I  would  seek  my  Deity  sooner  through 
the  suggestions  of  the  seas  and  skies,  the  sea-stars 
and  the  twilights,  and  perhaps  in  a  woman's  eyes, 
than  I  would  in  the  suggestions  of  a  tract  or  a  Little 
Bethel ;  and  I  should  be  satisfied  with  my  own  free- 
dom could  it  only  react  on  the  Universe,  as  the  gorse- 
blossom  reacts  on  the  summer  wind  that  fills  it, 
and  give  it  some  perfume  of  its  own.  Even  as  things 
are,  however,  a  person  like  myself  —  I  hope  I  shall 
be  a  good  example  to  you  —  can  perhaps  keep  his 
soul  alive  by  following  truth  in  one  form  or  another 
—  whether  it  be  the  truth  of  science,  which  we  can 
only  disarm  by  facing  it,  or,  for  the  present  moment, 
the  truth  about  our  own  trade,  and  the  increase  and 
decrease  of  our  production,  our  exports  and  our  im- 
ports, of  alkali,  trouserings,  shirtings,  pig-iron  and 
cheese.     To  me  it  seems  that  the  old  state  of  things 


442        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

is  inverted.  It  is  not  the  Deity  that  knocks  at  the 
door  of  the  human  heart ;  but  the  human  heart  that 
knocks  at  the  door  of  the  closed  Universe.  Some- 
body the  other  day  compared  me  to  the  prophet 
Balaam.  I  can  't  pretend  to  have  seen  the  vision  of 
the  Almighty  falling  into  a  trance,  yet  having  my 
eyes  open ;  but  I  shall  not  have  lived  in  vain  if  only 
I  can  say  dying,  '  I  shall  see  Him,  but  not  now :  I 
shall  behold  Him,  but  not  nigh.'  And  now,  Han- 
cock, so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  you  may  give  us  your 
benediction." 

"  As  this,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  after  a  pause,  "  is 

—  and  we  may  be  thankful  for  it  —  not  a  political 
meeting,  I  need  not  propose  that  we  give  Mr.  Glan- 
ville  a  vote  of  thanks.  I  will  only  say  that  if  Mrs. 
Vernon,  or  anybody  else,  has  thought  that  Mr.  Glan- 
ville,  in  his  conduct  of  these  discussions,  has  endeav- 
ored to  destroy  those  beliefs  which  many  —  perhaps 
most  —  perhaps  all  of  us  here  —  hold  valuable,  such 
a  person  or  persons,  must  now  be  disabused  of  that 
opinion.  If  science  has  inflicted  a  wound  on  the 
world's  religion,  we  must,  as  a  preliminary  to  curing 
it,  realize  how  deep  —  how  seemingly  mortal  —  it  is. 
If  we  let  our  clergy  hide  it  under  their  absurd  ban- 
dages, of  one  thing  we  may  be  certain  —  that  it  never 
will  be  cured  at  all.  And  now,  ladies  and  gentle- 
men, I  've  got  to  make  an  announcement.  We  had, 
the  other  night,  at  Mr.  Glanville's  request,  a  hymn 

—  as  Mr.  Brompton  would  have  called  it  —  at  the 
close  of  one  of  our  conferences.  The  distinguished 
author  of  that  one  will  now  give  us  another  —  sug- 
gested, I  think  —  for  I  have  glanced  at  it  —  by 
some  of  our  previous  discussions." 


Before  Dawn  443 

"  This,"  said  Lord  Kestormel,  who  was  sitting  by 
Mr.  Hancock's  reading-lamp,  "  was  suggested  to  me 
by  Mr.  Seaton's  quotations  from  Nietzsche,  about 
the  desire  of  truth  —  and  partly,  too,  by  a  picture  in 
my  bedroom  of  some  wild  bit  of  solitary  coast  —  I 
suppose  in  Ireland.  I  wrote  it  last  night,  instead  of 
taking  a  sleeping-draught. 

"  Here,  where  the  sailless  waves  are  pale  and  hoary, 
Strayed  from  my  kind  in  this  undreamed  of  land, 

What  do  I  see  on  yon  bleak  promontory — 

What  gracious  thing  of  wings  and  whiteness  stand? 

Hear  me,  and  heed,  thou  radiant  child  of  glory! 
Help  me,  and  take,  and  guide  me  by  the  hand. 

"  O  form  benign,  with  limbs  aglow 

From  heaven,  I  hold  thy  hands  and  kneel. 
But  what  is  this?     Thy  brows  are  snow, 
Thy  hands  are  stone,  thy  wings  are  steel. 

"  The  shining  pureness  of  thy  face 
Has  not  the  peace  of  paradise; 
Those  wings,  within  the  all-holy  place, 
Were  never  folded  o'er  thine  eyes. 

"And  in  thine  eyes  I  see  not  bliss, 
Nor  even  the  tenderness  of  tears. 
I  see  the  blueness  of  the  abyss, 
I  see  the  icebergs  and  the  spheres. 

"  Angel,  whose  hand  is  cold  in  mine, 

Whose  seaward  eyes  are  not  for  me — 
Why  do  I  pray  for  wings  like  thine? 
I  would  leave  all  and  follow  thee." 

"  O    rash   one,    pause,    and    learn    my   name ; 
I  know  not  love,  nor  hate,  nor  ruth, 
I  am  that  heart  of  frost  or  flame, 

Which    burns    with    one    desire — the    truth. 


444        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

"  Thou  shalt  indeed  be  lifted  up 

On  wings  like  mine,  'twixt  seas  and  sky; 
But  canst  thou  drink  my  bitter  cup? 
And  canst  thou  be  baptized  as  I? 

"  The  cup  I  drink  can  only  rouse 

The  thirst  it  slakes  not,  like  the  sea; 
And  lo,  my  own  baptismal  brows 
Must  be  their  own  Gethsemane. 

"Across  the  paths  where  I  must  go, 
The  shuttles  of  the  lightning  fly 
From   pole    to    pole,    and    strike,    nor    know 
If  Christ  or  kingdoms  live  or  die. 

"  The  sightless  sight  will  glaze  my  eyes 
Of  those  that  neither  wake  nor  sleep; 
As  down  the  stadium  of  the  skies 
The  eyeless  systems  lean  and  sweep. 

"  Canst  thou  endure  the  worlds  of  fire, 
The  worlds  of  snow  ? — or  bear  to  mark 
On  each  some  rat-like  race  expire, 
Which  cannot  leave  its  sinking  barque? 

"How  wilt  thou  bear  the  creeds  that  bleat 
Like  starving  sheep  from  frozen  downs, 
The  eyes  which  trust  the  blinding  sleet — 
The    anthems   which   the   thunder   drowns? 

"  Oh !    you,  for  whom  my  robes  are  white, 
For  whom  my  clear  eyes  in  the  gloom 
Are   lights — you  who   would   share   my  flight, 
Wait  for  the  end.     I  know  my  doom. 

"  I  shall  become  the  painless  pain, 

The  soundless  sound,  as  deaf  and  dumb, 
The  whole  creation  strives  in  vain 
To  sing  the  song  that  will  not  come. 


Before  Dawn  445 

"  Till  maimed  and  wingless,  burnt  and  blind, 
I  am  made  one  with  God,  and  feel 
The  tumult  of  the  mindless  mind 
Torn  on  its  own  eternal  wheel. 

"Back  to  your  home  of  faith  and  fears, 
And  he  shall  lead  you  by  the  hand 
Who  made  his  traitor's  falling  tears 

The  rock  on  which  his  Church  should  stand; 

"And  mourn,  and  love,  and  take  your  part, 
With  him  who,  passionate  and  pure, 
Found  in  his  Master's  broken  heart 

The  word  by  which  the  heavens  endure." 

"O  angel  of  the  floods  that  pour 

Their  waters  'twist  the  truth  and  me, 
Though  Christ  should  call  me  from  the  shore, 
I  will  leave  all  and  follow  thee. 

"  I  will  not  fear  the  floods  below, 

The  whirlwinds  shall  not  make  me  fear. 
Watch  me.     My  limbs  shall  never  know 
A  trembling,  nor  mine  eyes  a  tear. 

"  The  storm  may  rise,  the  floods  may  roar ; 
But  haply,  ere  our  day  be  done, 
My  eyes  shall  turn  to  thine  once  more, 
And  know  that  thine  and  his  are  one." 

This  composition  of  Lord  Kestormel's  was  much 
more  successful  than  his  previous  one.  It  was 
greeted  by  Mrs.  Vernon,  and  even  by  Lady  Snow- 
don  herself,  with  an  audible  outburst  of  satisfaction, 
while  Miss  Leighton  turned  to  Glanville,  and  said 
in  a  low  voice :  — 

"  He  rides  upon  a  horse  that  would  have  flown, 
Had  not  his  heavy  rider  kept  him  down." 


446        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

The  author,  meanwhile,  under  the  cover  of  his 
own  applause,  had  made  a  rapid  readjustment  of  his 
moral  and  intellectual  toilette ;  and  by  the  time  he 
had  finished  lighting  one  of  his  large  cigars,  he 
turned  to  Miss  Leighton  with  his  old  vice-regal  gal- 
lantry. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  when  the  kingdom  of  faith  is 
given  back  to  you,  what  form  of  the  Infinite  shall 
you  select  for  your  own  adoration?  My  choice  is 
made  already.  It  will  not  be  the  Infinite  which  I 
see  reflected  in  nature.  It  will  be  the  Infinite  which 
I  see  in  nature  when  reflected  in  a  woman's  eyes." 

"  I  doubt,"  said  Miss  Leighton,  "  if  a  woman 
would  be  very  much  flattered  by  your  preference. 
She  would  probably  wish  to  be  loved,  not  as  a  sample 
of  the  Infinite  —  a  pattern  which  you  can  match  at 
any  Bon  Marche  you  enter.  She  would  wish  to  be 
looked  on  as  a  bit  of  rare  old  lace,  whose  like  you 
never  could  find  if  you  travelled  all  over  Europe. 
At  the  present  moment  I  wish,  on  behalf  of  the  In- 
finite, to  thank  Mr.  Glanville  for  his  prose,  as  we  've 
all  thanked  you  for  your  poetry.  Mr.  Glanville," 
she  said,  turning  from  Lord  Restormel,  who,  not  in 
the  least  disturbed,  now  joined  Mrs.  Vernon  as  she 
rose  and  left  the  chapel,  "  I  never  thought  when  we 
talked  about  Pascal  at  the  railway  station  that  our 
conversation  would  ever  end  in  this  way.  Fasten 
my  cloak  for  me,  do.     The  top  hook  is  undone." 

He  and  she  were  now  practically  alone  together. 

"  I  've  tried,"  said  Glanville,  "  to  bore  you  as  little 
as  possible.  I  wonder  how  much  you  understood  of 
my  general  meaning." 

"  I  understood,"  she  said,  "  one  thing,  which  I  'm 


Before  Dawn  447 

sure  nobody  else  did.  I  knew  who  the  man  was 
whose  life  had  been  eaten  out  of  him." 

"  I  hope,"  said  Glanville,  "  that  he  did  n't  either 
look  or  speak  as  if  he  asked  to  be  pitied  for  the 
breakdown  of  his  constitution.  How  shall  I  manage 
to  forgive  you  for  having  found  my  secret  out  ?  " 

"I  can't  betray  it,"  she  said.  "No  one  would 
believe  me  if  I  tried  to.  So  forgive  me  on  account 
of  your  own  reticence,  if  you  can't  on  account  of 
mine." 

"  It  requires,"  said  Glanville,  "  no  great  amount 
of  stoicism  not  to  cry  out  when  one  is  no  longer  con- 
scious of  being  hurt.  One  of  the  reasons  why  I  have 
shrunk  from  the  thought  of  marrying  has  been  that 
I  could  n't  bear  to  let  anyone  have  the  chance  of 
looking  into  anything  so  empty  as  the  premises  of  my 
own  mind.  I  should  respect  a  woman  who  married 
me  for  what  I  have  much  more  than  a  woman  who 
married  me  for  what  I  am." 

Miss  Leighton's  sombre  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  dis- 
tant sea,  and  a  soft,  showery  moonlight  was  glimmer- 
ing between  their  heavy  lashes. 

"  I  'm  not  sure,"  she  said,  "  that  I  could  n't  say 
much  the  same  myself,  if  only  what  I  happen  to  have 
were  a  little  more  than  it  is." 

"Has  your  heart,"  said  Glanville,  "been  eaten 
out  of  you  also  ?  " 

"  It  has,"  she  said,  "  but  by  something  that  was 
not  knowledge  —  unless  it  was  the  knowledge  that 
Eve  learned  in  Eden.  I  do  n't  know  what  meaning 
you'll  attach  to  that.  Perhaps  it  doesn't  much 
matter." 

"  As  to  the  facts,"  said  Glanville,  "  I  do  n't  know 


448        The  Veil  of  the  Temple 

that  it  does.  But  the  spirits  of  the  i  lost  nations  ,' 
like  you  and  me,  understand  each  other.  I  '11  tell 
you  how  you  might  do  me  a  great  favor,  if  you  would. 
Teach  me  that  anything  matters.  If  you  can  stand 
what  I  am,  will  you  allow  me  to  offer  you  what  I 
have  ?  For  example,  here  is  a  desirable  marine  resi- 
dence, with  twelve  best  and  eight  secondary  bed- 
rooms —  But  God  bless  my  soul !  what 's  this  ?  It 's 
Sir  Roderick  Harborough,  come  to  pay  us  an  even- 
ing visit." 

"  Well,  Eupert,  old  boy,"  said  Sir  Roderick,  with 
genial  gaiety,  "  they  told  us  we  should  find  you  up 
here.  A  deuce  of  a  climb,  by  gad.  Do  you  think 
you  could  give  me  a  glass  of  whiskey  and  soda-water  ? 
They  told  me  you  'd  got  it  in  the  chapel.  I  'm  glad 
it  is  not  in  there." 

THE    END. 


GOOD  FICTIONS 


Patricia  of  the  Hills 

By  Charles  Kennett  Burrow. 

12°.     (By  mail,  $1.10.)     Net        ....     $1.00 

"Patriotism  without  unreasonableness;  love  of  the  open  air  and  the 
free  hills  without  exaggeration  ;  romance  without  over-gush  ;  humor  and 
melancholy  side  by  side  without  morbidness  ;  an  Irish  dialect  stopping 
short  of  excess  ;  a  story  full  of  sincere  feeling." — The  Nation. 

"  No  more  charming  romance  of  the  old  sod  has  been  published  in  a 
long  time."—  N.  Y.  World. 

14  A  very  pretty  Irish  story." — N.  Y.  Tribune. 


Eve   Triumphant 

By  Pierre  de  Coulevain.     Translated  by  Alys  Hallard. 
12°.     (By  mail,  $1.35.)     Net        ....     $1.20 
"  Clever,    stimulating,  interesting,     ...      a  brilliant   mingling   of 
salient  truth,  candid  opinion,  and  witty  comment." — Chicago  Record. 

"  An  audacious  and  satirical  tale  which  embodies  a  great  deal  of  clever 
and  keen  observation." — Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  An  extremely  clever  work  of  fiction." — Louisville  Courier-Journal. 


Monsieur    Martin 

A  Romance  of  the  Great  Swedish  War.    By  Wymond  Carey. 

12°.     (By  mail,  $1.35.)     Net        ....     $1.20 

"It  was  with  genuine  pleasure  that  we   read   '  M.    Martin.'      .     .     . 

We  cordially  admire  it  and  sincerely  hope  that  all  who  read  this  page  will 

also  read  the  book." — From  a  Column  Review  in  the  Syracuse  Herald. 

11  Wymond  Carey's  name  must  be  added  to  the  list  of  authors  whose 
first  books  have  given  them  a  notable  place  in  the  world  of  letters,  for 
Monsieur  Martin '  is  one  of  the  best  of  recent  historical  romances."— 
Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

"  Mr.  Wymond  Carey  has  given  us  much  pleasure  in  reading  his  book, 
and  we  are  glad  to  praise  it." — Baltimore  Sun. 


New  York  — G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS  — London 


<#>GOOD  FICTION^ 

Lavender  and  Old  Lace 

By  Myrtle  Reed,  author  of  "  Love  Letters  of  a  Musician," 
"  The  Spinster  Book,"  etc. 

12°.     (By  mail,  $1.65)        ....         net,  $1.50 
Full  Crimson  Morocco       ....         net,  $2.00 
Miss   Reed  has  carried  her  lively  style  and  charming  humor  from 
letters  and  essays  into  the  field  of  fiction.      This  is  the  story  of  a  quaint 
corner  of  New  England  where  more  than  one  romance  lies  hidden  under- 
neath the  prim  garb  of  a  little  village. 

The  Shadow  of  Victory 

A  Romance  of  Fort  Dearborn  (early  Chicago).  By  Myrtle 
Reed. 

120.     With  frontispiece     ....  net,  $1.20 

Full  crimson  morocco,  gilt  top  .         .         .  net,  $2.00 

Miss  Reed's  new  novel  is  pre-eminently  a  love  story,  portraying  a  true 
woman  whose  lot  was  cast,  not  in  the  drawing-room  or  in  the  salon,  but  in 
the  wilderness,  where  the  only  representatives  of  civilization  and  culture 
were  the  rude  fort  and  the  true  hearts  that  garrisoned  it.  Beatrice  is  fasci- 
nating, possessing  all  the  sweet  caprices  of  woman,  with  wo  man's  strength 
in  time  of  need,  while  the  hero  is  a  man  whose  character  must  appeal  to 
every  true  woman. 


Fame  for  a  Woman 

or,  Splendid  Mourning.     By  Cranstoun  Metcalfe.     With 

Frontispiece    by    Adolf    Thiede. 

12°.  (By  mail,  $1.35)  ....  net,  $1.20 
Madame  de  Stael  wrote:  "  Fame  is  for  women  only  a  splendid  mourn- 
ing for  happiness";  Mr.  Metcalfe  tells  us  how  a  sweet  little  woman, 
whose  world  is  little  bigger  than  her  husband,  loses  that  perspective 
by  contact  with  the  superficially  clever  young  literary  set  in  London. 
She  is  persuaded  to  write,  and  her  writing  is  attended  with  success,  such 
as  it  is, —  the  sort  of  success  which  means  much  figuring  in  "literary 
notes,"  interviews  describing  the  privacy  of  one's  fireside,  and  pre- 
eminence among  so-called  Bohemians. 

New  York  —  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS  — London 


THE 

DEATH  OF  THE  GODS 

By  DMITRI  MEREJKOWSKI 

Author  of  "  The  Romance  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci,"  etc. 

Authorized  English  version  by  Herbert  Trench. 

12°.        $1.50. 

"A  fine  piece  of  work.  Out  of  the  perplexed  chapters  of 
Julian's  career,  Merejkowski  has  constructed  something  which 
might  be  called  a  drama,  full  of  episodes,  lurid,  intense,  pas- 
sionate .  .  .  with  a  power  to  enlist  and  hold  the  attention 
of  the  reader.  The  Russian  writer  is  evidently  a  close  and 
unwearied  student." — London  Daily  Telegraph. 

"Should  meet  with  a  good  hearing  in  England  and 
America.  .  .  .  The  subject  —  the  career  of  Julian  the 
Apostate — is  certainly  most  fascinating." — The  Athenceum. 

"  Here,  in  the  enthusiasm  of  reading,  we  are  ready  to  admit 
another  to  the  select  circle  of  great  historical  novels,  and 
they  are  few.  .  .  .  Julian,  as  the  intellectual  and  active 
meeting  point  of  the  old  world  and  the  new,  is  the  most  re- 
markable figure  of  his  epoch." — Daily  Chronicle. 

"With  the  ardor  as  of  Flaubert  in  '  Salammbo,'  and  with 
perhaps  more  skill  than  Sienkiewicz  in  '  Quo  Vadis,'  he  has 
succeeded  in  recreating  the  wonderful  rich  scenes  and  char- 
acters of  the  period." — The  Observer. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

New  York  London 


The   Romance  of 
Leonardo  da  Vinci 


The 
Forerunner 

(The  Resurrection 
of  the  Gods) 


By 

DMITRI   MEREJKOWSKI 

Author  of  "The  Death  of  the  Gods,"  "Tolstoi  as  Man  and  Artist,"  etc. 


12°.  $1.50. 

"A  novel  of  very  remarkable  interest  and  power.  Most 
vivid  and  picturesque." — Guardian. 

"  A  finer  study  of  the  artistic  temperament  at  its  best  could 
scarcely  be  found.  And  Leonardo  is  the  centre  of  a  crowd  of 
striking  figures.  It  is  impossible  to  speak  too  highly  of  the 
dramatic  power  with  which  they  are  presented,  both  singly 
and  in  combination.  A  very  powerful  piece  of  work,  stand- 
ing higher  above  the  level  of  contemporary  fiction  than  it 
would  be  easy  to  say." — Spectator. 

"  A  remarkable  work." — Morning  Post. 

"  Takes  the  reader  by  assault.  One  feels  the  impulsion  of 
a  vivid  personality  at  the  back  of  it  all." — Academy. 

"  It  amazes,  while  it  wholly  charms,  by  the  power  of 
imagery,  the  glowing  fancy,  the  earnestness  and  enthusiasm 
with  which  the  writer  conjures  Italy  of  the  Renaissance  from 
the  past  into  the  living  light." — London  World. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

New  York  London 


UNIVERSITY   J7"    CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE   ON   THE  LAST   DATE 

STAMPED  BELOW 

Books  not  returned  on  time  are  subject  to  a  fine  of 
50c  per  volume  after  the  third  day  overdue,  increasing 
to  $1.00  per  volume  after  the  sixth  day.  Books  not  in 
demand  may  be  renewed  if  application  is  made  before 
expiration  of  loan  period. 


AUG  16  1920 


•     T 


^ 


APR  16  1949 


OCT  261956  32 


*Ece/veo 


/G6'8AM 


MAR  09 


J9S6 


Molt   «■ »  % 


n\?C'D  LD 

Due  end  ol  3uart 

subject  to  recall  after-- 

REC'D  LD    JUN 


APR  1  272  0  8 

8..-12PM4a-i 


349470 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


Mm 


